


Freaky Furday

by Seanbiggerstaffrox



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Stiles, Body Swap, But this isn't a Sterek Story, Dick Jokes, F/M, Gay Jokes, Gen, Grief, Horror, Humor, I make a lot of Sterek-y jokes, Lots of dick jokes, M/M, Murder, Mystery, Past Abuse, Past Rape, Past Sexual Abuse, Recovery, Scents, Scents are very important in this story, Scott's life is hard, Season 3 AU, Season 3 Spoilers, Sexual Themes, Slash Jokes, Stealthy Puns, Unbeta'd but edited, Violence, dark themes, rape imagery, werewolf Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:51:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 72,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seanbiggerstaffrox/pseuds/Seanbiggerstaffrox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Have you ever seen <strong>Freaky Friday </strong>?” Stiles asks. </em>
</p><p> <em> “Yes.” Deaton says, the question clear in his voice. </em> </p><p><em>“Well, welcome to <strong> Freaky Furday.</strong>”</em> </p><p>Or, the one where Scott and Derek switch bodies.</p><p>  <strong>ETA: This story is no longer under hiatus. Posting is active. </strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wolf Swap

**Author's Note:**

> This is being written in conjunction with Season 3, which means it will contain spoilers, but I will also be deviating from plot points out of disinterest or because it doesn't fit with the story.  
> This starts after 'Chaos Rising' (which I made take place on a Tuesday out of convenience - this doesn't really follow the Teen Wolf timeline exactly) and 'Fireflies.' It deviates from 'Fireflies' in that Cora and Boyd were not found. Scott & Co. lost them in the woods.  
> Also, I proscribe to the notion that Kate Argent was, in fact, a rapist, so you're going to see Derek dealing with that. A lot of their relationship is going to be based off of _'On Fire'_ by Nancy Holder. This could be very triggering for some people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art was done by the lovely [blackbirdrose](http://blackbirdrose.deviantart.com/)

**Chapter One; Wolf Swap**

It’s early Wednesday morning when Scott comes to just enough for the draft in his room to be uncomfortable. It feels airier than usual, like a cold breeze bouncing off the walls, and he half suspects that he’s left the window open. Briefly – very briefly – he entertains the idea of getting up to shut the window, before opting to snuggle further into his blanket, where his pleasant dream of blueberry pancakes should still be waiting for him. He sniffs, pressing his cold nose into his covers and frowning at the unfamiliar scent.

There’s a musty aroma in the air, just thinly covering the distinct smell of anger and cedar that accompanies Derek. Which is off putting. If the alpha was here though, he would have said something. 

A ding sounds in the distance and Scott wonders if his mother is already up, making coffee. In an elevator. Because that’s what that ding sounds like. 

_“Derek?”_ Isaac’s voice is quiet, but Scott’s werewolf hearing can pick it up. 

_“He’s still asleep.”_

Peter?

Scott frowns. No way in hell is Peter in his house. 

_“What are you doing here?”_ Isaac asks, voicing Scott’s thoughts. Not that Isaac’s presence makes much more sense.

Scott works his eyes open, blinking several times as he tries to bring his morning into focus.

 _“Waiting for Derek. Like a good beta.”_ Peter replies, sarcasm laced in his voice. 

Scott only hears it peripherally though because he’s too busy silently freaking out. 

This isn’t his room. This is definitely not his room.

The room Scott’s in is mostly barren, with a large cavernous ceiling, which must be the source of the chill. His mattress, or the one he’s sleeping on, is frameless and tossed carelessly on the hardwood floor. His blanket is a bit ratty and his sheets are plain white, replacing his usually dark ones. He’s white too, which is new.

“Dude.” Scott mutters, lifting his hand to stare at it in shock. He’s somehow gotten bigger in his sleep, like an alabaster Hulk. He really hopes this isn’t a new power. 

_“Sleeping Beauty’s woken up.”_

Scott looks up in surprise at Peter’s voice, just on the other side of the wooden door. 

_“Derek?”_ Isaac calls and Scott frowns. 

This is Derek’s apartment.

And he’s in Derek’s bed. 

An entirely impossible and uncomfortable idea forms in Scott’s mind and he shoots to his feet, looking around frantically. He needs to find a mirror, or a bathroom. 

Scott spots a door to his right and rushes across the floor, slipping in his socks (which he definitely never wears to bed) as he dashes towards potential safety. Isaac’s saying something about how he’s sorry and he knows he shouldn’t be waking Derek but it’s important and Scott manages to lurch inside the bathroom just as Peter lets out a huff of frustration. 

Except it isn’t a bathroom. It’s the closet. 

Scott has just enough time to note that Derek actually does have quite a selection of clothing before Peter opens the bedroom door and stomps into the room, Isaac trailing behind him. 

“Derek.” Peter snaps and Scott cringes. 

What are they going to do when they find him in Derek’s room? Why the fuck is he in Derek’s room? Why is he suddenly white?

The door to the closet opens and Peter’s glaring at him. “Derek.” Peter says slowly, and he’s staring right at Scott. But he looks confused, which is good. “Why are you in the closet?”

Scott falters, looking from Peter to Isaac, who’s lingering with concern just behind the eldest Hale.  
Scott’s not sure how to respond. 

“Derek.” Peter repeats and Scott’s starting to feel a bit sick.

“Me?” Scott asks, pointing a pale finger at himself. His voice has changed too. It’s deeper and slightly Derek-esque. 

“Yes.” Peter says, and Scott can see the effort it’s taking Peter not to roll his eyes.

“Me? Derek?” And yeah, that’s Derek’s voice. 

“Yes. You, Derek. Me, Peter.” Peter says, and there goes the eye-roll. “Can you come out of the closet? I promise we’ll all still love and accept you.”

“Yeah.” Scott whispers, still in a daze. “I just need, the uh, the bathroom?” Scott says, stepping by Peter. 

There’s a moment of silence as Peter and Isaac wait for him to leave. 

“Uh, where is it?” Scott asks and they both look at him in concern. 

“Are you alright?” Isaac asks.

“It’s just outside, to the right.” Peter instructs, eyes flickering dangerously as he studies Scott. 

Scott nods, hurrying out of the bedroom. He finds the bathroom as instructed, rushing into it and locking the door behind him. 

The bathroom’s pretty sparse, the counter occupied only with a razor and some soap, though Scott’s seen Derek’s hair so he’s not buying the simplicity routine. It’s the mirror, though, that draws Scott’s interest, because that is definitely Derek staring back at him.

Scott turns on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face and trying again. 

“Shit.” Scott whines when it doesn’t work. He can feel his distress increase tenfold, which is a very, very bad thing. 

Stressed werewolves are not controlled werewolves.

Scott feels Derek’s claws extend and it’s like he’s transforming again for the first time. The pain as Derek’s claws – larger and longer than Scott’s – push out from underneath his fingernails, ripping through the sensitive pads of his fingers, is almost blinding. The only thing worse is the feel of Derek’s fangs – again, decidedly larger and longer and sharper than Scott’s – stabbing through his gums, and Scott’s vision bleeds. It’s only when he looks in the mirror that he realizes it’s his eyes, turning Alpha red. 

Scott takes a deep breath, trying to find some way to calm down. Naturally, he thinks of Allison first, but there are so many emotions tied up with her now that it’s far from calming. Next he thinks of his mom, but he’s tried so hard to keep her out of the werewolf side of things that even using her as an anchor feels dangerous (not to mention the fact that thinking about her now just makes him homesick and more scared, because she has no idea he’s here and he knows for a fact she wouldn’t acknowledge him as her son if she saw him, which means no more hugs and he loves her hugs.) It’s not until he thinks of Stiles that even a modicum of calm breaks through his panic. It’s not totally effective, but it’s enough, and he latches onto it, taking deep breaths. 

Scott thinks about Stiles and the instinctive way he just knows Stiles will be by his side for as long as humanly possible, and its better. He’s still scared, of course, - he’s not sure anything could really calm him down in this situation – but he’s confident enough that he mostly has the shifting under control. His claws and teeth still itch under the surface, though, and his eyes keep shifting back and forth from ruby to green, so he doesn’t think he has that much time. Coiled with adrenaline and nervous energy, he shoots out of the bathroom. 

Everything becomes a bit of a blur after that. Somehow he ends up back in the bedroom, looking desperately for Derek’s cell phone, squinting as he tries to focus through his constantly shifting vision. He vaguely remembers Isaac and Peter saying something and him growling an order for them to go on patrol. It was the alpha growl, he thinks, which might be the only reason they listened. 

It’s only after Scott’s ransacked the bed and destroyed most of the furniture in the room (which was limited to a nightstand and a lamp) that he finds the cell phone in the corner, hooked up to a charger. He stabs at it with too big fingers, letting out an irritated growl and just barely refraining from wolfing out. Stiles’ number is, surprisingly, in it, located right after his own, which is disconcerting. After he takes a few moments to process the weirdness of seeing himself in Derek’s contacts, he calls Stiles, who answers on the fourth ring. 

_“…Derek?”_ Stiles mutters, voice clogged with sleep.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice slips from Scott’s mouth and it sounds panicked. 

_“Derek? What’s wrong?”_

“I…” Scott can’t explain this over the phone. “It’s hard to explain. Can you just…come to the loft? Please?”

There’s a pause.

 _“Did you just say ‘please?’”_

“Stiles.” Scott whines. 

_“Wow, uh…okay, yeah. I’m on my way.”_

Scott lets out a relieved breath.

Stiles hangs up and Scott has a moment to relax before a thought occurs to him. If he’s in Derek…

 _“Something else?”_ Stiles asks when Scott calls him a second time.

“Just one more thing: um, come alone.”

_“Alone?”_

“Don’t bring Scott.”

 _“Don’t bring Scott. Why not?”_ Stiles sound suspicious.

“It’s a surprise.”

_“This is starting to sound a little weird.”_

“It’s a surprise for Scott. It’s a wolf thing. Look, can you just come? Please?” 

_“Oh my god, okay, stop with the voice. I’ll come, sans Scott. But if you try to eat me, I’ll…do something threatening.”_

Stiles hangs up again and Scott closes his eyes, taking in deep breaths. This is all really fucking weird. 

 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Half an hour later, Scott’s wearing Derek’s dark blue jeans and green t-shirt, pacing Derek’s living room, and biting Derek’s nails, brimming with anxiety. He tried to sit down earlier in one of Derek’s chairs, but everything had felt too wrong. He’s too tall, his body’s too big, and his limbs don’t work the right way. Even his toes are different and Scott has to fight the urge to claw at Derek’s skin until he finds a little bit of himself again. 

He thinks Derek might need glasses. Or maybe he needs glasses. It’s hard to tell anymore. 

Scott hears the elevator begin its ascent and turns to face the doors, wringing his hands nervously as he waits.

“Okay, I’m here.” Stiles says right after the elevator doors slide apart. “What is it?” He asks, descending the small staircase and stepping into the loft. 

“Stiles.” Scott breathes, sweeping across the floor and pulling Stiles into a hug. 

“What the-” Stiles starts, freezing in shock. 

Scott doesn’t care though because Stiles is warm and safe and familiar. He smells of old sweat and Old Spice and new Adderall, and his plaid and skinny jeans are so patently Stiles that Scott forgets he’s not patently Scott anymore. 

Stiles’ heart’s pounding though and the slow build of fear and perspiration are starting to fill Scott’s nose.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Stiles squeaks out. 

Scott shakes Derek’s head, holding just a little tighter.

“Wait, is this a hug? Are we hugging right now? Because this seems like a hug.” Stiles says, and then his arms flail, making him jostle in Scott’s grip. “Oh my god, something really bad happened, didn’t it? Like, colossally bad. Like, let’s hug Stiles Bad.” 

“No.” Scott says weakly, Derek’s voice soft and intimate. “Please, just let me hold you for a little bit?” Scott requests, because that calm he’d been looking for earlier is finally here, wrapped in his too big and unfamiliar arms. 

Stiles lets out a confused and drawn out “Uh” before silence falls and Scott can hear the pounding of Stiles’ heart. Stiles processes the situation for a bit before breaking the quiet. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Derek, because it’s flattering that you, you know, like? Me, I guess. But I’m not really – you know. No offense. I mean, have you tried Danny?” 

Scott snorts, hiding Derek’s face in Stiles’ shoulder and holding on. Just for a little longer, he tells himself. Just until he no longer feels like his world’s crumbling. 

“Right.” Stiles mutters. “Look, it’s not that I haven’t thought about dudes like that. Because I have, a lot. And I won’t deny that occasionally, when I fantasize, you slip in, but so does Mrs. McCall-”

Without the two inch height difference, Scott can stare straight into Stiles’ eyes, which turns out useful when he’s glaring. “Dude, you fantasize about my mom?”

“Your- uh, Derek?” Stiles asks, brows furrowing in confusion. 

“No, that’s why I called you over here.” Scott says, breaking away form Stiles and pulling at Derek’s hair in frustration. It’s weird that it hurts. “Look, this is going to sound weird, but I’m not Derek.”

“Right.” Stiles says, clearly unconvinced. “And who are you?”

“Scott!” Scott says, flailing his hands and looking to Stiles in earnest. 

“You’re Scott?”

Scott nods.

“As in my best friend Scott?”

“Yes. I don’t know how, but when I woke up this morning I was in Derek’s bed. In Derek’s body.” Scott whispers the last part in distaste.

Stiles blinks. “You know what I’m going to do. I’m going to call Dr. Deaton. And he can take care of you.” Stiles says, going for his cell phone with one hand while keeping the other one up and in front of him, clearly visible, like he thinks Derek’s unsafe and Stiles shouldn’t make any sudden movements.

Scott huffs. “You don’t believe me.”

“No, no, I do.” Stiles heart skips a beat, not that Scott needs that to know Stiles is lying. 

Scott changes his approach.

“We met in the third grade during recess.” Scott starts in a rush, making Stiles pause. “I was running away from Jackson and crawled under the slide, where you were already hiding with Mr. Fink’s car keys. We both hated Jackson and we both liked Batman and neither of us could stand Mr. Fink, so we buried his car keys in the mud and started the Mr. Stink club.” Scott finishes, eyeing Stiles desperately.

Stiles stares at him in shock. “I hear it’s still going.” He says. “Meets under the slide every Tuesday.” 

Scott grins. 

Stiles shakes his head. “No, it’s not possible. Scott must’ve told you-”

“Your favourite color’s red. Your favourite cereal’s Lucky Charms. You talk in your sleep. Your first sex dream was about big bird. You’re real name’s -”

“Okay, okay, stop!” Stiles says, holding up his hand.

Scott pauses, watching as Stiles takes deep breaths. 

“Either you’re a world-class stalker – and believe me, I wouldn’t be surprised – or you really are…” Stiles trails off, narrowing his eyes and studying Derek’s face. “God, Scott?” He asks, staring at him in amazement. 

Scott nods. 

“Dude, How -?” Stiles doesn’t even finish the question, just waves his arm over Derek’s body.

“I don’t know! I just woke up like this.”

“Wow. That sucks.”

Scott nods, then cocks his head a little bit. “Hey, what did you mean when you said you sometimes fantasize about Derek?”

Stiles blanches. “That was between me and Derek and you shouldn’t eavesdrop.” Stiles lectures, before looking at Scott uncomfortably. “Please don’t tell him.” 

Scott frowns. “Do you like him?”

“Ew. No.” Stiles says and he’s not lying. “It’s just, you know, sometimes, when you’re doing the business, your mind wanders. I think about everyone, except my dad and Harris. Which is, gross.”

“Do you think about me?”

Stiles stares at him for a few seconds, cheeks coloring. “So, do you think we should call Deaton about this whole body swapping thing?” Stiles deflects. There’s a split second and Scott sees the exact moment the thought occurs to Stiles, because Stiles’ eyes widen and his mouth drops open. “Whoa, dude! No way! Do you think Derek’s in your body?!”

**At the McCall Residence:**

Derek’s sitting at the breakfast table, watching Melissa McCall with wide eyes. It’s early morning and she’s already ready for her shift, standing at the counter in her scrubs as she puts together a thermos of coffee. 

Derek doesn’t mind the hour – he’d usually be awake anyway – but he does mind the circumstances. 

“So, Scott.” Mrs. McCall starts and Derek stiffens as Melissa turns hazelnut eyes in his direction. “Care to explain where you were running off to this morning?”

“Ah.” Derek mutters, frowning. After figuring out he was in Scott’s body, he’d had a minor freak-out before attempting to escape. He’d been caught halfway out the window. “I was going for a run.” 

“A run.” Mrs. McCall echoes. “In your pajamas?”

“Yes.” Derek says.

Melissa nods, eyeing him speculatively. “That’s a nice tattoo you got there.” She says, nodding at his bicep.

Of course Scott didn’t tell his mother about the tattoo. Derek resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Scott.” Mrs. McCall says with a sigh, moving to sit across from him at the table. “I know with all this werewolf business, you have a lot of stuff going on. But I’m still your mother.” Mrs. McCall grabs his hand, gripping it in a gentle embrace, and Derek suppresses a flinch. “You’re not alone in this. You’ll never be alone in this and I just wish you’d talk to me. Before your tattoos and before your dirt-bikes and before weird werewolf shenanigans. We have to be in this together this time.” 

Mrs. McCall’s gaze is earnest and pleading. Derek’s not really sure what to do with it so he nods. 

“Okay, honey.” Melissa says, letting go of his hand. “I have to go to work.” She leans down, planting a kiss on Scott’s head. “Be safe.” She gives him a pointed look before grabbing her thermos and leaving the kitchen. “And eat a good breakfast!” She calls from the front door, apparently unaware of the range of werewolf hearing because she’s yelling like he’s human. “I don’t care if Cookie Crisp has a wolf on the box, that doesn’t mean it’s good for you!” 

Derek’s lips twitch ever so slightly as he listens to her leave the house. There’s a beat after the front door closes before the house seems to settle and everything goes still, nothing but the soft sounds of Derek’s (Scott’s?) breath filling the space. 

Derek lifts Scott’s hand, touching his forehead. The spot where Mrs. McCall kissed him still tingles, and Derek tries not to get too attached to the warmth and comfort of it. It wasn’t meant for him anyway.


	2. All Dogs Go to Deaton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: Cover art done by the lovely blackbirdrose  
> I edited this a lot and it looks good to me, but if you notice anything off, please let me know.
> 
> A section of this chapter might look familiar because I posted it on my Tumblr as a drabble. ([Link](http://the-great-dragon.tumblr.com/post/53398540517/sciles-drabble-ephemeral)) This was not plagiarized. Additionally, interesting side note: I actually wrote it into the chapter first and then went 'Huh, I really like that' and edited it and posted it as a drabble.

**Chapter 2; All Dogs Go to Deaton:**

Scott’s never spared any thought for Derek’s feet before, but now that he’s in them, he realizes they’re a bit floppy. They feel like flippers, wide and uncoordinated as Scott tries to maneuver across the floor in Derek’s too heavy shoes. He’d been fine when he was pacing, too distracted to think about the odd way Derek’s feet work across the ground, but now that his anxiety has slipped and he’s managed to put on Derek’s footwear, he’s feeling a little less capable. And in pain. He thinks Derek might need arch supports.

“Scott.” Stiles huffs, staring at Scott in irritation as Scott takes clumsy steps to the elevator. 

They’ve decided to go to Deaton’s first. It’s a practical solution, since Deaton would certainly have more answers than anyone else Scott can think of, but it’s also a good way for Scott to procrastinate on finding himself. Or, rather, his body. 

Scott knows he should probably be more concerned about the whereabouts of himself, and to an extent he is, but he’d also rather avoid facing his body head on for as long as possible. He doesn’t doubt that any of this is happening, but seeing his own body would be too surreal and too much confirmation that this isn’t a dream. There’s also, of course, the slight fear that there’s no body to see. 

Scott feels too big as he stands in the elevator, taking up far too much space. He leaves Stiles to press the down button, because Derek’s hands are too big and too white and Scott wants to refrain from looking at them. 

When the doors close, Scott finds himself staring into smoky metal and finding a blurry, but undeniable, Derek looking back. He can see Stiles, too, shooting frequent glances in his direction. Not that he’d have needed that to feel the weight of Stiles’ looks, and not that it particularly matters because Scott’s too busy maintaining eye contact with hazy, green eyes. 

It’s startling to Scott, really, because Scott’s seen Derek head-on and knows for a fact that the man is ridiculously attractive. He can picture very clearly the clean cut of strong jaw and defined cheekbones, nice eyes and a seemingly sculpted face. He knows Derek is handsome. But now that he’s standing here, staring out from behind Derek’s eyes, his nose looks too big for his face, and his eyes seem too close together. His jaw flares out, looking bizarrely wide and disproportional and his cheeks seem more flat than striking. His chin cuts off too soon and his ears are too small yet too prominent. His hair’s not that great either, but that could just be because Scott doesn’t know how to style it so it sits kind of flat on his scalp. 

Scott opens Derek’s mouth experimentally and, yep, rabbit teeth. “Huh.” Scott mutters.

“What?” Stiles asks.

“Nothing.” Scott mumbles. “It’s just…it’s weird, you know, seeing Derek from this angle.” 

Stiles doesn’t ask why, but Scott notices him tilting his head, studying Derek’s form curiously. The elevator doors open and Stiles seems to give up, shrugging to himself and stepping out into the lobby. 

Scott’s not really sure how Derek found this place or why it’s so empty. He half suspects Derek just bought the thing, but he’s not sure if he wants to find out. He’s not sure if Derek would answer him anyway, since the alpha seems to enjoy keeping an air of mystery about him and his affairs. Either way, they move uninterrupted through the abandoned building, crossing across a dusty, checkered floor that likely once sparkled with contrasting black-and-white, but not criss-crosses in patterns of faint yellow and faded gray. 

They emerge into the equally abandoned exterior of the building, and Scott takes a deep breath, the aroma of urine and old trash filling his nostrils. The jeep’s just a little ways off, Stiles is already heading towards it. Scott sighs, resolving to get through this as best as he can. 

As best as he can turns out to be squashing into the passenger seat and clutching desperately at the granny handle as he rocks back and forth, the seatbelt pressing uncomfortably into him while Stiles drives like a maniac. 

“Dude, slow down.” Scott urges, readjusting the seatbelt with his free hand. 

“I’m going the speed limit.” Stiles protests.

Scott frowns. It still seems too fast. 

“Seriously, dude, the speed limit’s forty. It’s not that fast.”

Scott glares at Stiles who groans and slows down. 

“There, I’m doing thirty five, better?”

Scott resigns himself to thirty five and moves his attention to the window, watching as the more populated area of Beacon Hills comes into view. It’s strange, staring at familiar buildings and people. Everything’s just as he remembered and he’s not sure why he expected it not to be, but he did. It hits him in a rush, ice tumbling in his gut when he realizes that the only thing that’s changed is him. He knew it already, mentally, but it’s a hard swallow now that he’s staring it right in the face. It’s kind of lonely, actually.

He hugs his free arm around his abdomen and slouches in his seat, staring morosely out the window. 

“Scott, buddy? You alright?” Stiles asks from beside him and Scott turns his head, meeting Stiles’ concerned glances. 

“I don’t want to be Derek.” Scott confesses. 

“No one wants to be Derek. Derek doesn’t want to be Derek.” Stiles says.

Scott snorts, angling Derek’s body towards Stiles. “I hope Deaton can help.”

“He’s got to. The guy knows everything.” Stiles says. “Hey, you think he’s like a warlock or something?”

Scott thinks about it and shakes his head. Well, Derek’s head, but it’s starting to feel like the same thing. “No, probably not.” Scott replies, then pauses and thinks about it again. “Well, I don’t know, he could be.” 

“He still hasn’t given you any hints?” Stiles asks.

“No. Every time I ask him he distracts me. I’ve gotten three raises though.” Scott says.

“Nice.” 

The mantle of conversation is difficult to keep up after that as Stiles gets lost in his thoughts and Scott allows numbness to overtake him, keeping his attention on Stiles. It’s nice, letting his mind drift as he watches his friend. 

Stiles’ hair is mussed and his eyes are red-rimmed. His complexion’s pale, the fine definition of his face welcoming shadows in the early morning light and making him look older than Scott’s ever seen him. Scott’s stomach clenches as he watches the vaguely haunted look that dances into his friend’s expression, and he hates himself for finding it beautiful. He knows why it’s there, of course. 

Scott wants to ask about Heather. He wants to know how long she’d been friends with Stiles, he wants to know what memories Stiles holds of her, he wants to know when they stopped being friends and if it coincided with that day in third grade, when Stiles and Scott met under the slide. Heather wasn’t in their third grade class; Scott knows that much after going home and scouring his third grade yearbook. In fact, Heather didn’t go to their elementary school at all, at least not while Scott was there. She didn’t go to their middle school either. 

Scott wants to know her last name. 

Scott wants to know a lot of things, but as per usual, he keeps his mouth shut and focuses on the sharp warmth in Stiles’ eyes. Sometimes, Scott’s a coward. 

“ _Pusillanimous_.” Scott mutters to himself.

**Word of the Day: August 14th.**  
 **Pusillanimous** **_(adjective)_**  
 **Definition: Lacking courage or resolution**

Stiles shoots him a questioning look. “What?”

Scott shakes his head. “Nothing.” 

Stiles lets it drop and Scott’s not sure how he feels about that. His friend’s usually more tenacious, but it’s been a rough week (month, year, life) so they’re all a little worse for wear. Scott’s not sure how he feels about that either. He doesn’t have much time to contemplate it, however, because they’re pulling into the parking lot of Deaton’s veterinary clinic. 

“Let’s hope this works.” Stiles says, unbuckling his seatbelt and exiting the car. 

Scott nods and follows after, less graceful in his descent. He hits the ground sooner than expected and stumbles, Derek’s clunky body ramming into the side of the jeep. 

“Scott?” Stiles calls from the other side.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Scott says, shutting the door with more force than intended and cringing at the loud slam. “Sorry.” He calls before Stiles can lecture him. 

“You didn’t dent anything, did you?” Stiles asks, peering over the hood of the car at Scott, who does a quick double-check and shakes his head. It’s a small dent, from when he rammed into the side. He’ll fix it later when Stiles isn’t paying attention.

Now that Scott’s standing, he realizes with a tinge of annoyance and embarrassment that he needs to pee. It’s not urgent, but he knows it’ll only get worse the longer he waits. He really hopes Deaton has an answer, because Derek peeing isn’t something Scott’s ever wanted to be involved in. 

The door to the clinic is unlocked and they step inside to find the waiting room, thankfully, empty. 

“Dr. Deaton!” Stiles calls and Scott shifts nervously behind him. He has not idea how he’s going to explain this. 

There’s a pause as they wait. 

“Dr. Deaton!” Stiles calls again.

“Stiles.” Deaton says, coming out of the back room wearing latex gloves and a look of irritation. “Derek?” His voice lilts in question and he glances between Scott and Stiles.

They must paint an odd picture, Scott realizes. Derek and Stiles wouldn’t willingly spend time together. 

“Is someone in trouble?” Deaton asks, peeling his gloves off.

“Yeah.” Scott says, sheepishly. “Me.” 

Deaton nods. “Come in.” He says, going into the back room.

Scott and Stiles exchange nervous looks before following.

“What seems to be the problem?” Deaton asks.

“I’m, uh…see, the thing is-” Scott fumbles and Deaton’s eyebrows shoot up. Right, Scott’s in Derek and Derek doesn’t do nervous. 

“Have you ever seen _Freaky Friday_?” Stiles asks.

“Yes.” Deaton says, the question clear in his voice.

“Well, welcome to _Freaky Furday._ ” Stiles gestures at Derek’s body. 

“I’m Scott.” Scott explains weakly.

“I see.” Deaton says. He hardly seems surprised at all. 

“Wait, really?” Stiles asks.

“You believe us?” Scott says at the same time.

“Yes, I do.” Deaton says, moving around the table and to one of his cupboards. Scott recognizes it as the one he stores his wolf bane in. “Body Swap spells, while rare, are not impossible. This is the first case I’ve seen in person, though.” Deaton pulls a book out from his cupboard and turns to Scott, eyeing him curiously. “Have you found Derek yet?”

“We haven’t really looked.” Scott confesses. “He might be at my house? We could-”

“No, I think it might be best for you to stay here. We don’t know what state Derek’s likely to be in, if you have swapped bodies at all, that is.”

“What’s the other option?” Scott asks.

Deaton eyes Scott for a second before flipping open his book. “I have a few questions.” He says and Scott pushes down his irritation. Sometimes he wishes Deaton wasn’t so…tenebrous. 

**Word of the Day: July 16th**  
 **Tenebrous** **_(adjective)_ **  
**Definition: Dark; shadowy or obscure**

Deaton asks when the Body Swap happened and Scott tells him about waking up this morning.

“Did anything happen last night?” Deaton asks. 

“You mean after the werewolf ice bath and the bank heist?” Stiles asks, fiddling about with one of Deaton’s scalpels.

“We went looking for Boyd and Cora.” Scott says. 

“Cora.” Deaton repeats and Scott remembers that Deaton doesn’t know what happened at the bank. “Cora Hale?”

Scott nods. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“What was she doing at the bank?” Deaton asks, ignoring Scott’s question.

“She and Boyd were being kept there by the alphas.” Scott explains.

“Ah, so Erica?”

“Is dead.” Stiles speaks up. He’s still standing by Deaton’s tools, staring down at them in contemplation. 

“I see. And Boyd and Cora?” 

Stiles explains about the moonlight and the room, filling in some of the gaps in Scott’s own knowledge. 

“And you couldn’t find them?” Deaton asks Scott, who shakes his head. 

“We lost them in the woods.”

Deaton sighs. “As important as that is to know, I’m afraid it doesn’t have much to do with Body Swaps. Is there anything else unusual?”

“Virgin Sacrifices.” Stiles says, voice cracking. Saying it must’ve ignited the distress he’d been keeping at bay all morning, because the air is suddenly invaded with the pungent scent of sadness. 

Deaton looks at him sharply.

“Three of them.” Stiles says, eyes glistening in the light as he meets Deaton’s gaze. Scott can see the clench in Stiles’ jaw and the stubborn set of his brow as he hides his distress, but Scott can smell it. In fact, it’s all he can smell. 

Scott’s not sure what odor grief contains for the other werewolves, but for him it’s always the unforgettable aroma of lanolin and leather – his dad’s old baseball glove. Even in Derek’s body he can’t evade the scent and it sends his mind reeling back to baseball Sundays and games of catch. He can’t stand it. He hates baseball. 

While Scott’s mind had been trailing to things he’d much rather not think about, Deaton had been flipping through his magic book.

Deaton looks up in regret. “I’m afraid,” He says, drawing Scott from his thoughts, “that human sacrifices have little to do with Body Swaps.” Deaton’s brows furrow in consternation. “It’s very dark magic though. If someone is sacrificing people, we may be dealing with even more danger than we thought.”

The mood in the room, which was already less than pleasant, becomes somber, pressing down on its occupants. 

“Now more than ever we need to set things right.” Deaton says, looking at Scott. “Is there anything else you can remember from last night? Anything unusual at all?”

Everything about last night was unusual and Scott wracks his brain. The bank, Cora and Boyd, chasing Boyd through the woods, the children in the shed, tracking down Mr. Argent, going back to the woods – 

“Fireflies.” Scott whispers.

“What?”

Scott looks up. “We were in the woods-”

“We?” Deaton interrupts.

“Me, Derek, Isaac, and Mr. Argent.” 

Deaton looks at him in surprise and Scott shrugs, Derek’s face twisting into a sheepish expression.

“He wanted to help.” Scott says. It’s not quite a lie – Mr. Argent had wanted to help after Scott showed him the dead body at the pool. “We were in the woods trying to track Cora and Boyd and there were these fireflies.”

“Glowing?” Deaton asks.

Scott nods. “Mr. Argent said it was unusual. There aren’t bioluminescent fireflies in California.”

“He’s right.” Deaton says. “It’s certainly odd.”

“Do you think it’s a clue?” Scott asks. 

“It might be.” Deaton murmurs. “And you lost Cora and Boyd in the woods?” He asks.

Scott nods, and then a thought strikes him. “They scared Boyd.”

“The fireflies?” Deaton asks.

“Yeah. He was going after some kids and then the fireflies went after him. If he hadn’t freaked, I wouldn’t have been able to get the kids away.”

“That is odd.” Deaton says.

The bell in the front room tingles and Scott hears footsteps shuffle into the clinic. There are two heartbeats, one slow and steady and the other fast. He identifies it as a cat when he hears a soft meow. 

“That will be Beans for his appointment. Excuse me.” Deaton says, setting his magic book down and exiting the room. _“Ah, Mrs. Turner. And how’s Beans, today?”_

_“Not very happy. It’s alright Beans, it’s just nice Dr. Deaton.”_

“Do you think this is going to take a lot longer?” Scott asks hesitantly, looking back at Stiles.

Stiles looks up from Dr. Deaton’s tool set. “Probably. I think you’re going to have to be Derek for a while, dude.”

Scott’s brows furrow and his lips press together.

“It’s fine. We’ll get through this.” Stiles comforts, stepping closer.

“It’s not that.” Scott says, shifting uncomfortably.

“What is it? You’re making that constipated face.” 

Scott hunches, looking at Stiles uneasily. He mumbles his problem and Stiles frowns, stepping into Scott’s space and leaning closer.

“What’s that? Not all of us have werewolf hearing.” 

“I need to pee.” Scott confesses. 

Stiles stares at him with wide eyes for a moment and then the air is filled with the scent of peanut butter as Stiles cackles, bent at the waist from the force of his amusement. 

Scott’s surprised by the smell – it’s the first time he’s experienced it tied to a person’s emotion. 

Scott’s still adjusting to scents. He always figured they’d be tied to the person he’s dealing with, and to an extent they are – after all, everyone carries their own unique scent – but the smell of emotions? The smell of emotions comes from Scott. 

He knows this one. At least, he thinks he does, because his dad had been allergic to peanuts. Scott and his mother aren’t and it had been on especially wicked days, when his father was away or passed out on the couch, that they’d sneak peanut butter sandwiches. If his mother was especially mad at dad, she’d take Scott out for peanut butter ice cream or on a picnic with peanut butter sandwiches. There was a vindictive pleasure in it, and with Stiles laughing at Scott’s misfortune, he can kind of understand the connection.  
He’s not really sure he likes it, though.

“Oh man, that sucks.” Stiles says, straightening up and wiping at his eyes. There’s a little bit of sympathy in his tone, which isn’t as comforting as Scott thought it would be. 

“Deaton’s got a bathroom, right?” Stiles asks.

Scott nods, resigned. He’d held off as much as he could. He gets off the table, feeling distinctly like he’s walking to his death.

It’s not that Scott particularly has a problem with operating another guy’s junk. It’s not even sexual; he’s just going to the bathroom. But the idea of touching Derek’s penis kind of makes him want to hurl. Or maybe it’s just because he’s in the wrong body and it’s not his junk that makes him so queasy. It’s probably the only bright thing in all of this that he’s at least in the right sex. 

Stiles follows Scott to the bathroom and stands outside with utter glee written on his face. Scott glares, shutting the door on his very irritating best friend. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

It’s been a while since Derek was a teenager, but he doesn’t remember being this hormonal. Granted, his entire family dying helped him take his mind off it. Plus, learning how to control his wolf helped him learn how to control his more human urges (at least until the whole Kate thing, which he promised himself he wouldn’t think about. He’s not very good with promises.)

Derek huffs, pulling Scott’s red t-shirt over his head and ignoring the itch of arousal burning low in his belly. How Scott doesn’t have a constant erection all day, Derek has no idea (unless Scott’s using past traumas to keep the little sucker down too, and dammit, Derek’s thinking about it again. It doesn’t really do much except make him feel dirty every time that stab of arousal pops up. He’s sure he’d feel dirty anyway, since it’s Scott’s arousal he’s dealing with.)

Derek thinks he’s getting the hang of maneuvering in Scott’s body. At the very least, he’s more compact, so even when he stumbles, he manages to avoid hitting anything. Except the lamp, which he accidentally destroyed earlier, but it was kind of a shit lamp anyway, so he doesn’t think Scott will mind too much. At least it’ll be cheap to replace if he does, though why he needs a lamp at all, Derek’s not sure. 

Maybe Scott needs glasses. Derek doubts it though. Scott’s vision is better than Derek’s – at least he thinks it is. Derek can see fairly well, usually, as long as things are close, but with Scott’s eyes he can clearly make out the things on the other side of the room, where they’d usually be blurry.

Derek’s not sure if he could pull off glasses though. He thinks they might sit weird on his face. 

Derek steps into the bathroom, studying the reflection in the mirror. He ignores the odd set of Scott’s nose and the way this perspective exaggerates his uneven jaw line. He tries to look past the way Scott’s forehead seems too big and his eyes too beady, and the hair – dear god, the hair. Derek has no idea how Scott tames the thick wives, but even as short as his hair is now, it manages to stick in all directions, coiling into threatening, defiant little swirls that Derek doesn’t even want to tackle. 

Derek lets out a sigh, going back into the bedroom and grabbing Scott’s cell phone, tucking it into bright, blue jeans. Grabbing a light green jacket, he goes into the hall, shrugging the garment on and staring down at the end of the corridor.

Mrs. McCall’s room is down there. 

Derek remembers his parents’ room. He hadn’t been fully grown yet when the house burnt, so he’s not really sure how much the large oak bed frame really towered, or whether the mattress really could fit four of him. The blue flowers on the patterned quilt would probably be smaller, and the pillows wouldn’t seem quite as fluffy. The oak wardrobe with the mirrored doors likely wouldn’t seem as immobile and intimidating, and when the curtain rods came lose again, spilling white lace and thick green curtains, he’d definitely be able to reach up and hold them stable while his dad hammered them back in. 

Before he really has time to dwell on it, he’s walking to Mrs. McCall’s room on Scott’s too small, too narrow feet. 

He’s not sure what he expected to find in there. Whatever it was, it was probably silly, though that doesn’t stop the small well of disappointment that fills within him.  
The bed’s already made, pink flowers lined neatly across the blanket, snaking upward and disappearing under a set of matching pillow covers. The pillows aren’t very fluffy, and the bed frame is just a bed frame, and it doesn’t seem to matter what sort of wood it’s made out of. There’s a vanity table and a jewelry box. The closet in the corner is built in and far from a wardrobe.

Derek’s sure there’s some sort of history to the room, some sort of indecipherable pattern that would make it more than it is, but he doubts he’ll ever be privy to it. It might as well be a furniture display, for all the sentiment he can find in it. 

With one last look, he shuts the door, blocking out the concentrated smell of Mrs. McCall – earthen and medicinal, with a hint of molasses – and heads back down the hallway. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles watches Scott slam the bathroom door shut and snorts, leaning back against the wall and waiting. He kind of feels bad for Scott, if he’s being honest. He’s not really sure what he would do in this situation, and he’s extremely grateful he’s not finding out.  
He has a pretty good seat to Scott’s reaction though, when a few moments later an indignant yell comes from the bathroom. 

“Oh my god, everything’s different!” Scott shouts, Derek’s voice pitching high in panic. 

Stiles startles, frowning and staring at the door. “What do you mean different?” Stiles asks.

“I don’t know, it’s just…whiter and…bigger.”

“Bigger?” Stiles mutters, glancing down at his crotch. “What do you mean bigger?” He asks the door. 

“I don’t know. Just…bigger.”

“Like how big?”

“What? You mean like in inches?”

“Inches?” Stiles repeats quietly, sparing another glance at his nether regions.

“I don’t know.” Scott says. “It’s hard to tell.”

“Deaton might have a measuring tape.” Stiles suggests.

“I’m not measuring Derek’s _dick,_ Stiles!” 

“It doesn’t have to be weird.” Stiles protests. “Come on, do it for science.” 

“I thought you said you weren’t attracted to Derek!”

“I’m not, I just want to know how big his dick is!” 

There’s a short pause from the bathroom before Scott speaks again. “Do you want to, like, see it?” Scott asks. 

“Are you offering?” 

“I don’t know. I mean, I should probably ask Derek first.” Scott says.

“Great idea, Scott, let me just text him now. Dear Derek, is it cool if Scott shows me your _junk_?” 

“No.” 

Stiles jumps, spinning around in alarm. It takes him a moment to register that that’s Scott’s body standing in the hallway, arms folded and faced twisted into a Very-Obviously-Derek-Hale glare. 

“Derek?” Stiles squeaks. 

Scott’s head moves in a sarcastic nod, the ‘duh’ clear even if it’s inaudible.

“Oh my god.” Stiles mutters. One good thing about working with werewolves? His reflexes are awesome, and Stiles manages to rush backward, entering and locking himself in the bathroom before Derek gets to him. He’s not sure Derek really tried, but it’s still nice to have a door between them.

“Stiles!” Scott protests from behind him. “What are you doing in here?”

Stiles whirls around and gapes. “Oh my god, dude.” He says, lifting his hand and covering his eyes. “Put that away.”

“No, I haven’t peed yet.”

“Why not?”

“I have a hard time peeing around other people.” Scott says, glaring down at Derek’s dick. 

Stiles looks around in confusion. “You were the only in here.” Stiles observes. 

“It doesn’t really feel like it. I feel like Derek’ watching me pee.” 

“Kinky.” Stiles deadpans. “Look, I have good news and I have bad news.”

Scott looks at him expectantly.

“Good news: this is definitely a _Freaky Friday_ situation. Bad news: Jamie Lee Curtis is out there and she doesn’t look happy.” 

Scott frowns in confusion.

“Dude, Derek’s in the hallway. Right now. In your body.” Stiles says, pointing back at the door. 

Scott stares at him, Derek’s eyes wide and his mouth gaping open in surprise and fear. 

There’s a moment of silence and then the sound of urine splashing against porcelain.

“Oh, wow.” Stiles mutters, turning around and staring fixatedly at the door. Well, at least something worked out.


	3. Paws for Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Stiles mentally thinks, once again, that this is a fucking **terrible** idea. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple things: I incorporated some of 'Unleashed' into this chapter, but this is happening the day before 'Unleashed' (this is supposed to be happening the day after 'Chaos Rising' and 'Fireflies' so it wouldn't be possible for Scott to be working at Deaton's at night and run into Kyle (since 'Fireflies' opened up with the sun rising - though in this story they didn't find Boyd or Cora, so they actually managed to go home and get some sleep before sun rise.) So, there you go.)
> 
> Secondly, this isn't a Sterek story. I think it's important to remind everyone, since Stiles and Derek have a lot of interaction this chapter and I don't want you guys to get your hopes up. If you do want a Sterek story though, you can check out the [ Sterek oneshot inspired by this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/854987?view_adult=true). It was written by the lovely I_JustWokeUp. It's funny and very clever.
> 
> ALSO, Cover art done by the wonderful blackbirdrose

**Chapter 3; Paws for Effect**

When Scott finishes peeing, he spends the next fifteen minutes washing his hands longer than necessary in too hot of water while he makes Stiles promise they will never, ever talk about this again.

“Dude, believe me, Derek peeing? Never something I wanted to be involved in.” Stiles says by way of a promise. 

It’s good enough for Scott and, after drying his hands, he turns around to face his friend. “Is he still out there?” Stiles asks, nodding back at the door.

Scott tilts his head, listening carefully for the telltale sound of another heartbeat – his own heartbeat, he realizes, and his stomach practically drops out. It’s out there, beating faster than usual, but not to a worrisome degree. He supposes Derek’s as nervous as he is. It’s kind of nice. 

“Yeah, he’s…he’s out there.” Scott says, licking his lips nervously. “And you’re sure it’s him?” 

Stiles nods and Scott swallows nervously.

“We should…” Scott finishes the sentence with a gesture towards the door.

“Yeah.” Stiles agrees, moving out of the way. “Don’t want to leave him in you too long.” Stiles blushes right after he says it. “That came out wrong.” 

Scott nods, but his eyes are fixed on the door and he feels a lot like he did this morning, standing on some nebulous plane, out of reach from reality. He’s pretty sure there was a word for this in his Word of the Day calendar, but he’s too stunned to remember it. 

Stiles seems to be waiting for Scott to take the lead, though whether it’s because he realizes Scott needs to do this in his own time or if it’s because he’s planning to use Scott as a shield in case Derek gets violent, Scott’s not sure. He’d like to think it’s the former, but he knows Stiles too well to be confident. Best case scenario, he figures, is a combination of both. 

Scott takes a deep breath and walks forward. It’s probably five feet to the door, and in the real world that wouldn’t take long at all, but in Scott’s world it’s like walking through sand. He feels unstable, and each step takes longer than it should even though he’s barely putting his feet down. Then again, they’re not his feet. 

Scott’s at the door before he’s fully prepared to be and he pauses, hand held at half-mast in front of him. He’s hesitating. 

_**Pusillanimous**_

“Scott.” Says someone who’s not Stiles and definitely not Deaton.

Scott doesn’t recognize his own voice coming from the other side of the door. It’s not deep enough and it’s too quiet and he sounds - god, he sounds so _young_. How’d he get involved in all of this?

“Scott, open the door.”

He sounds like a teenager. 

Scott’s aware that he is a teenager, but he never really felt it and he never really _realized_ …

“ _Scott_.” The other person insists and Scott squares his (Derek’s) shoulders, finding his determination and resolving to just get this over with. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. 

Except it’s nothing like ripping off a Band-Aid, because once the Band-Aid’s ripped off, everything’s over, but opening the door to find himself standing there is only the beginning. It hits Scott like a punch to the gut, but much, much worse. He can tell Derek’s affected too, because his heart’s pounding and Scott watches in fascination as his own face twists in awe and confusion. Scott can commiserate – it’s difficult to take in. 

Scott notices a lot of things about himself at first, but the thing that really clicks is just how young he looks. He’s muscular and masculine, but his face still has a certain adolescence to it – it’s too soft and not as confidently defined as Derek’s. He looks, for lack of a better word, pliable. He’s also kind of short. Not terribly, but in Derek’s build, he feels almost like he’s towering, even if it’s only by a couple of inches. 

After that sets in, Scott notes with some pride that his eyes really aren’t that close together and his jaw isn’t nearly as crooked as he thought. His nose actually does have that odd hook in it, but it’s nothing terrible and he fancies that it’s kind of flattering. His natural hair – which he always thought far too curly and unattractive – actually looks kind of nice. And his body is just… _Wow._

“Dude, are you checking yourself out?” Stiles asks. 

“I…” Scott starts, not taking his eyes off of his body. “I just – I didn’t know I looked like that, you know?”

“Like what?” Stiles asks, coming up beside Scott and following his gaze like Stiles expects anything to be different. 

“I don’t know. Attractive?” Scott says.

Stiles gives him an almost pitying look. “Scott, you’ve always been hot.” Stiles says and then turns his attention to Derek. “What about you, big guy? Any new realizations?” Stiles asks, gesturing at Derek’s body, which Scott shifts a little uncomfortably.

He feels oddly nervous having Derek scrutinize him. It’s kind of like how he feels when his mother goes out to inspect the car after he’s borrowed it, and he can’t help worrying that he might’ve fucked something up when he wasn’t looking. 

It only lasts for a few seconds before Scott sees his own face morph into an unpleasant glare, which Derek turns on Stiles. “I could crush you.” Derek finally concludes and Stiles chuckles nervously, taking a small step backwards, preparing to dive behind Scott in case Derek decides to follow through on the threat.

“That’s not really new.” Stiles says and Derek glares, morphing Scott’s face into something unnatural and unpleasant.

“Hey, don’t do that.” Scott protests. “You’re gonna give me wrinkles.”

Derek glares harder and Scott frowns. Scott’s not sure how long they’re staring each other down when a throat clears, breaking the moment.

Scott looks up to find Deaton standing in the hallway.

“Am I interrupting something?” Deaton asks. 

Scott shakes his head and Derek nods. Deaton ignores him.

“Good. I have some time until my next appointment and I think it’s prudent that we form some sort of plan.” Deaton turns, walking into the back room and leaving Scott, Stiles, and Derek to follow. 

Derek ends up going first and Scott finds his eyes trailing down to his own ass, which he watches in fascination. It’s a nice ass. Scott wishes he was back in it.

They enter the back room, and Scott can feel Stiles wandering around behind him as Deaton starts questioning Derek. It’s all the same information Deaton got from Scott, but repetitive as it is, Scott can’t really tune it out. Not like Stiles, who appears out of nowhere with – 

Scott blinks in surprise.

“You get lots of cattle?” Stiles asks, swinging the cattle prod dangerously. 

Deaton frowns. “Stiles, I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if you put that back.” 

“Where’d you even find it?” Scott says. He’s been working here for years and he’s never seen it. 

“Supply closet.” 

“Why do you have a cattle prod?” Derek asks Deaton while Stiles disappears to replace the weapon.

“I’m a vet.” Deaton says. 

Derek frowns and Scott really hates seeing the irritated look on his own face. Even in pictures, Scott’s always smiling, so he’s been guarded against his own darker expressions and it’s kind of devastating to watch. Even if he’s technically not the one making the face.  
Scott refrains from saying anything, because he’s pretty sure if Derek actually bothered to acknowledge Scott (which hasn’t since they got in the room,) he’d feel the same way. Or maybe it’s because he feels the same way that he hasn’t so much as glanced in Scott’s direction in the past ten minutes. 

“It seems,” Deaton says, looking between Scott and Derek, “that you have a bit of a problem.”

“A bit?” Derek mutters sarcastically. 

“Yes, well, perhaps it’s more dire than that.” Deaton concedes. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you what the cause for your predicament is, and it may take more time yet to puzzle it out. In the meantime, you have an alpha pack, two feral werewolves, and, as I’ve just recently learned,” Deaton says, glancing at Stiles, “A chain of human sacrifices.” Deaton turns his attention to Scott. “You have a lot on your hands.”

“Don’t you mean ‘we’?” Derek asks.

“Oh no, Derek.” Deaton says. “These are your problems. I can’t fix them for you.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Derek grumbles.

“I haven’t a clue.” Deaton replies and he gets this look in his eyes that signals what he’s about to say just before he says it. “After all, I’m only a vet.” 

Because it looks like Derek might slaughter Deaton otherwise and because Scott doesn’t want to have blood on his hands (his actual, real, literal hands because Derek’s in him and Scott’s never getting over how weird that is) Scott moves the conversation along. “So what should we do?”

An awkward silence descends over them.

“I think,” Deaton says, “it might be best to pretend nothing’s changed.”

“You mean, like, live each other’s lives?” Scott asks.

“Yes. For whatever reason, you two have been switched, and, whether you like it or not,” Deaton looks pointedly at Derek when he says this, cutting off the man’s protests preemptively, “you’re both weakened. You can’t afford to be in any more danger at the moment. The better you fill each other’s roles and the better you convince people that everything is as it should be, the safer you’ll be.”

“So, Scott has to pretend to be Derek and Derek has to pretend to be Scott?” Stiles asks. 

“That’s the idea, yes.” Deaton answers.

“That…is a terrible idea.” Stiles says.

“Do you have another option?” Deaton asks.

“Werewolf retreat? Or…or, they could…say they’ve come down with some sort of werewolf illness and have to be quarantined?” Stiles says, clearly as much at a loss as everyone else. “Look, I don’t know, you’re the werewolf expert.” Stiles says, gesturing at Deaton, “Come up with something different.” Stiles orders, before adding on a desperate “Please?”

“I think this is the only way.” Scott says.

Stiles shakes his head, his features twisted into a grimace. “Come on, dude, I don’t want to go to school with him.” He whines, pointing at Derek.

“Oh man, school!” Scott says. “What time is it?” 

“The time doesn’t matter, because you’re,” Stiles points his finger at Scott, then thinks better of it and turns it to Scott’s body, which just serves to make Derek angry, “You’re not going. It’s not happening Scott.” Stiles insists and steps close to his friend, crowding in his space. “Seriously, dude, think about it,” He whispers like Derek’s not going to hear him. In the background, Scott sees the nostrils on his own face flare as Derek glares at them. “Do you really want _Derek_ going to school for you?” 

“No, I don’t want any of this, but I can’t help it. I can’t miss school. Besides, he probably already knows the material. He might even help you.” Scott suggests. There’s a small moment where they both seem kind of hopeful, and then they glance back at Derek, who looks pissed. “Okay, maybe not.” Scott amends. “But at least he’ll know what to do.” 

“I don’t know dude.” Stiles says doubtfully. 

Scott knows it’s going to happen either way, but it would be really nice to have Stiles on board for this. “Stiles, please?” Scott pleads, looking Stiles in the eyes. It’s easier now that they’re at the same level. 

“That is so wrong.” Stiles says, taking a step back. “Okay, fine, just stop making that expression.”

Scott grins. 

Stiles stares at him with wide eyes for a few seconds before turning to Derek. “Never. Smile.” He orders. 

Derek snorts, crossing Scott’s arms and looking away.

“So, how’s this going to work exactly?” Scott asks. “Cause I’m, like, Alpha of a pack now.” Scott says with dawning horror. God, he’s tried so hard to avoid getting involved in the Hale pack and now he has to lead it. Stiles was right. This is a terrible idea.

“The most important thing,” Derek says, looking at Scott with his serious ‘I’m teaching you about werewolves’ expression. “Is to stay in control. If a pack senses their alphas distress, it will only make things worse.” 

“Derek’s right.” Deaton says. “You need to stay as calm as possible. Especially around Peter.”

And this is one of those reasons Scott totally adores Deaton. The vet rarely misses anything and while his uncanny ability to just know things can be irritating, it’s also comforting and very useful. Because yeah, Peter’s going to be a problem.

“Do you have an anchor?” Derek asks.

Scott hesitates. “Not anymore.” He confesses, and his heart only breaks a little. Stiles claps a comforting hand on his shoulder and Scott only leans into it a little bit. 

“Well I suggest you find one.” Deaton says. 

Scott nods.

“We may have another problem though.” Deaton says.

“We?” Derek grumbles and goes ignored.

“Alphas have a strong desire to form a pack.” Deaton explains, staring at Scott somberly.

“You’re going to have to be able to control that urge.”

“He already has a pack.” Derek points out. 

“No, Derek, you have a pack.” Deaton counters. “Scott’s an omega. He won’t recognize your pack as his.”

Derek pouts at that. Scott would find it kind of funny of it wasn’t his face he was looking at. 

“I haven’t felt like biting anyone.” Scott says.

“Not yet.” Deaton replies. It sounds ominous and Scott shudders. 

Stiles nudges his shoulder. “Hey, you withstood Peter.” He says easily, like the months Scott spent resisting the urge to kill his friends were no big deal. Stiles shoots Scott a playful smirk, adding “And I still have those chains.” 

“Stiles is right.” Deaton says. “This won’t be unlike resisting Peter.”

That’s of little comfort as far as Scott’s concerned. He barely resisted Peter the first time.  
The vibration of a cell phone echoes in the room and Scott looks back at Stiles, who pulls out his cell and fiddles with the screen. There’s a moment of silence and then Stiles groans. 

“Oh man.” He says, showing Scott the text message.

 **From: Danny**  
 **Scott’s not answering texts. Coach wants to know why you’re not in Econ. Says you better be on time for cross country or you’re off the Lacrosse team. Don’t text me back.**

“Shit.” Scott says. 

“We’re gonna have to go to school, aren’t we?” Stiles whispers.

“Yeah.” Scott replies guiltily.

Stiles sighs, looking over at Derek and grimacing. 

 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Ten minutes later, Stiles is sitting in the front of his jeep with Derek settled in the passenger side sulking. Stiles eyes him warily, feeling a spike of irritation flash through him at the scowl on his friend’s face. He’s a little (and yet not at all) surprised to find that he blames Derek for all of this. 

“Dude, you can _not_ look like that in school today.” Stiles says, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road, trying to stifle his anxiety as he heads to school. They’ve already missed most first period (which is just a testament to how fucking early Stiles had to get up this morning, and yeah, that’s Derek’s fault too) and neither of them have their backpacks, but they’re still going. 

This is a terrible plan.

Derek shoots him an unimpressed look.

“Like what?” Derek asks. 

“Like a moody teenager.”

Derek raises an eyebrow – or tries to. Scott’s muscles don’t really work that way, so both eyebrows go up. Stiles has seen the expression enough though that he can mentally photoshop the other eyebrow back into place. 

“I am a moody teenager.” Derek points out.

“No, you’re Scott.” Stiles says. 

Derek eyes him questioningly. Well, as questioningly as Derek can, which is less ‘Please explain’ and more ‘I will murder the answer out of you.’ It doesn’t really work with Scott’s face. Or maybe it works too well, because Stiles has to look away, eyes focusing on the road ahead as the jeep rumbles beneath him. 

“Look, Scott’s the happiest guy I know, adults included. He’s like rainbows and puppies and sunshine. And you-” Stiles glances at Derek, who’s glaring. “You’re a little more…uh.” Stiles trails off, gesturing with his hand and searching for the right word.  
Derek snorts.

Bristling, Stiles resigns himself to honesty. “Okay, look, Derek, you’re an asshole.”  
Whoops.

Stiles can’t really believe he just said that, and he can feel the way his heart skips and then starts pounding in his chest. He knows Derek can hear it. 

Stiles chews the inside of his cheek, tapping his fingers nervously against his steering wheel as he waits to be annihilated. He glances at Derek out of his periphery, but the alpha’s not looking at him, eyes resolutely trained on the windshield in front of him and face impassive, immobile but for the tick in his jaw. 

Stiles has been watching Derek’s expressions flit across Scott’s face all morning, and while it’s been weird he’s been able to, for the most part, place them, translating them into Derek’s features. Now, however, he falters, because he can’t really reconcile this look with any of the expressions he’s seen on Derek before, and the foreignness of it is unsettling. 

Stiles’ first instinct is to goad Derek with a mean-spirited comment - a mocking retort to Derek’s sulking because there’s no way Stiles is going to feel bad about hurting Derek’s _feelings_ after Derek had no qualms about punching Stiles the night before. Even if it was just in the hand and even if Derek (supposedly) did it to prove he could actually break into the bank vault (though Stiles knows for a fact it was just for the sake of punching him – Derek never passes up an opportunity to hurt Stiles,) it’s a weak justification and Stiles isn’t having any of it. Strangely though, Stiles can’t seem to summon the energy. 

Stiles sighs, turning on the radio and ignoring Derek. That is until a thought pops into his head and he can’t, despite his best instincts, keep himself from voicing it. 

“Just out of curiosity,” Stiles starts, “um, how long were you standing behind me? You know, when Scott was…” Stiles trails off, hoping Derek won’t make him say the rest of it.

“In the bathroom?” Derek finishes for him.

Stiles flushes. “Yeah.” Stiles glances over at Derek to gauge just how mad he is.

The werewolf’s staring out the window, but Stiles can see his lips twitch into a smug smile. Asshole.

“You know, Stiles, you’ll develop as you get older.”

Stiles blinks, taking a moment to register that. “Whoa, wait, are you giving me The Talk?” 

“Somebody ought to.” Derek says, and looks at him pointedly. “Extra Extra Large, really?”

Stiles gapes, barely remembering to keep his eyes on the road. Somebody told Derek about the condom. Which means people are talking about Stiles’ dick size. “Who told you? And hey, I could be that big.”

Derek snorts, but doesn’t say anything.

“You know a regular size condom can fit around a human forearm.” Stiles states.

“You bigger than a human forearm?” 

“Well no, I just…you know what? I’m done talking to you.”

“No you’re not.” Derek counters.

“Shut up.”

“You first.”

“Oh my _god_ , you are _so irritating._ ” 

Derek just smirks. Asshole.

Stiles grits his teeth, turning the radio up staring resolutely ahead. He actually manages to ignore Derek all the way to school, which he’s proud about until he realizes they really should have taken the time to work out some sort of plan. 

“I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this,” Stiles says after he’s pulled into a parking space, “but this is a really, really bad idea.”

Derek rolls his eyes, exiting the car. 

“We don’t even have backpacks.” Stiles shouts after him and groans when Derek starts walking towards the high school.

Stiles unbuckles his seatbelt and jumps from the front seat, walking after him. “Look, just try to be nice and don’t piss anyone off.” Stiles lectures, hurrying his pace as he tries to keep up with Derek’s strides. He never realized how much Scott slowed his pace before. Unless Scott just naturally walks slower, but Stiles doubts it. Fucking werewolves. “Actually, you should probably just not talk. That really is the best plan. And do you even know where you’re going?”

“Locker room.” 

“Right, yeah, of course.” Stiles sometimes forgets that Derek actually went to this school. Well, up until – “Um, Derek, quick question.” 

Scott’s brown eyes flash over to him as Derek glances in his direction. Scott’s mouth is tight-lipped and his face stony, the expression totally wrong on his face. This is so not going to work.

“Did you ever actually finish high school?” Stiles asks.

Scott’s jaw clenches and Derek walks faster.

Stiles stops, staring at Scott’s – well, Derek’s and god, Stiles is so confused - retreating back and frowning. “Please tell me that’s an ‘I’m offended you even asked, of course I finished high school’ silence and not a ‘I didn’t, but I really don’t want to tell you that’ silence.” Stiles says. 

Derek still doesn’t answer, but he’s only a couple feet away, so Stiles knows he heard him.

“Oh my god, you never finished high school.” Stiles mutters. 

Derek stills. “I got my GED.”

“You got your- well, that’s…not the same thing.”

“It sort of is.” Derek argues.

He’s right but also wrong. Stiles groans.

“Just…don’t fuck this up.” Stiles says, leaving off the ‘like you do everything else’ part. Derek seems to get it though, because he gives a sharp nod and keeps going. 

If Stiles was nervous before, it’s nothing like when they get enter the school. They get there right when first period ends and the halls fill with students and Stiles realizes he may not have taken into account just how many people like Scott. 

He mentally thinks, once again, that this is a fucking _terrible_ idea. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

The anxious scent of sweat emanating from Stiles spikes even higher as they enter the high school. Derek can hear Stiles heart pounding fast and hard in his chest and Derek just barely resists the urge to slam him into something to snap him out of it. This can mostly be credited to a voice coming from nearby. 

“Hey Scott.”

Derek looks over to find a girl about Scott’s age, digging through her locker and smiling. 

“Hey, Samantha.” Stiles speaks up beside him.

Samantha doesn’t like Stiles, apparently, because she shoots him an uncomfortable smile and looks back at Scott. “Missed you in Econ.” She says.

Stiles nudges Derek. “Smile.” He whispers. 

Derek tries, he really does.

“Dude, you looked like you were going to eat her.” Stiles hisses when they walk away from Samantha. “What the fuck was that?”

“It was a smile.” Derek argues. 

“On what planet?”

Derek feels like he landed in his worst nightmare – actually, correction, Derek has landed in his worst nightmare, because Stiles is somehow, impossibly, more annoying than usual. Derek’s fairly certain it has something to do with the fact that he’s in Scott now and Stiles has been lulled into a false sense of security given how careful Scott is around him. He’ll have to fix that.

His opportunity comes when Stiles places his hand on Scott’s shoulder and Derek feels the warmth even through Scott’s green jacket.

“Der- _Scott_

Derek turns, pushing back the urge to violently twist Stiles’ arm, instead leaning close. His confidence is slightly shaken when he has to look up to meet Stiles’ gaze and he’s never missed his body more than he has in that moment. He brushes that aside to focus on more important matters.

“I’m not actually Scott, and I will still kill you.” He threatens.

Stiles’ eyes go wide and he pulls his hand away. “Fine, hey, do what you want.”

Derek gives him a withering look then turns around, continuing his journey to the locker room. He turns the corner in the hallway and almost rams into Allison, who’s waiting outside one of the classrooms.

“Scott.” She says, looking at him in surprise. 

“Allison.” Derek replies, a bit shortly. 

“Hey, um…hey. I’m just waiting,” She says, gesturing back at the door. “I have French. With Ms. Morrell, you know. She speaks French. She’s from Canada.”

Derek nods. 

“It’s fun.” Allison continues. “I went to France, you know, during the summer.”

“Right.” Derek replies. 

Allison swallows, looking down at her feet and shuffling. “Can we, um,” She asks, grabbing her wrist self-consciously and glancing at him from under her lashes. “Can we talk? Later, I mean.” 

Derek wonders if she wants to get back together with Scott.

“I’m busy.” Derek says. 

“Oh.” Allison mumbles in disappointment. 

“I have to go.” Derek says, walking by her. 

Stiles, who must’ve been standing behind him during the exchange, comes up beside him.

“Dude!” Stiles starts.

“Did you know she was there?” Derek asks angrily, interrupting whatever lecture he’s about to get. 

“Yeah, Derek I-” Stiles cuts himself off. “ _Scott_ ,” He corrects before letting out a sigh. “Fuck, I can’t do this.” 

“Stiles.” Derek says warningly. Stiles better not be thinking of abandoning him.

“Let’s just get to the locker room.” Stiles says.

They do actually get to the locker room, sidling through the door and past teenage males in various states of undress. Derek doesn’t like it. He has a bad history with locker rooms, starting from middle school.

Derek cuts those thoughts off before they can develop because now’s really not the time to be thinking about upsetting things. 

Derek follows Stiles through the aisles and to a row of lockers on the other side of the room. Naturally, of course, Stiles’ and Scott’s lockers are right next to each other, and Derek can immediately tell which one’s Scott’s by the scent. It’s buried under a heavy blanket of sweat and deodorant, but the distinct blend of sandalwood and honey, tinged with something earthier, is hard to miss. 

Derek stands there, glaring at the locker. He doesn’t know the combination, but he could probably just break it open. Correction, he could definitely break it open, though he should probably text Scott first. 

“Let me do it.” Stiles says, nudging past Derek and grabbing the lock, twisting the dial.  
“You know his combo?” Derek asks, raising Scott’s eyebrows.

“Yes.” Stiles says, stepping away and handing Derek the lock. “And he knows mine, so if you ever need to get in my locker, you can ask Scott instead of breaking into it.” Stiles says. 

Derek wonders if Scott ever actually had to break into Stiles’ locker. He doesn’t ask though. 

Derek opens the door to the compartment, finding Scott’s gym clothes folded inside. He realizes self-consciously that he’s going to have to change. It’s ridiculous – this isn’t even his body – but he feels his stomach flutter nervously. He almost hates it, but he’s kind of grateful Stiles is there – at least he’ll serve as a distraction. 

“So…human sacrifices?” Derek asks. He didn’t ask at Deaton’s, because they’d had more immediate things to discuss, but he’d yet to hear about that particular situation.

“Huh?” Stiles asks, half leaning into his locker as he strips off his clothes. Derek guesses he isn’t the only one with body issues, which isn’t exactly surprising. What is surprising, however, is that Stiles is in much better shape than Derek expected. He’s muscular and lithe, with an unexpected amount of body hair. It’s something Derek can relate to and he turns away quickly, ripping his pants and shirt off a little irritably as he blocks out things he’d, once again, rather not think about. He also tries to ignore the arbitrary fact that he now knows Stiles’ preference in underwear (grey briefs, and he would pay so much money to be able to forget that.)

Cool air wafts around Scott’s body and Derek can feel Scott’s tan skin break out into goosebumps. He feels too exposed, standing in just Scott’s underpants (black briefs, and they look to be the same brand as Stiles, which is so gross and Derek feels so violated right now.) 

“Human sacrifices?” Derek repeats, pulling Scott’s shorts out. He stares at them for a second, thinking how they’re too small and the waist is too narrow and there’s no way they could fit him. Except he’s not him, he’s Scott. And they do fit. That doesn’t stop the similar train of thought that hits him when he pulls out Scott’s shirts. 

“Virgin sacrifices, actually.” Stiles says.

Derek pulls the first shirt on. It fits, which kind of makes him angrier. He’s distracted, however, by Stiles’ statement.

“Virgin sacrifices?” He echoes, looking over at Stiles in confusion. “How many?”  
Stiles, who has his cross country shorts and shirts on, looks down at his hands, where he’s grasping a gray hoodie. “Three. Well, two, but there’s another one out there.” Stiles swallows.

Grief smells like Kate’s perfume. 

It didn’t used to. When Derek was a child, grief smelled like Brussels sprouts. At least, until his pet hamster, Winnie, died, and then it smelled like her (or him, Derek still isn’t sure.) 

After that, it smelled like Aunt Judy, who home schooled the Hale children. When he started middle school at the Beacon Hills public school, grief smelled like the boys’ locker room, where Derek hovered alone in the corner, embarrassed by his premature body hair and his inability to understand the other boys. He doesn’t remember what it smelled like after that, because thinking about the boys’ locker room just makes him think of Kate. 

Kate had liked his body hair. Kate had liked everything about him – at least, he thought as much. She used to run her fingers through the hair on his torso, watching their progress intently and shooting wicked smirks in his direction. She liked to pull on his happy trail, staring at him through half-lidded eyes when he gasped and blushed. 

Derek waxes now.

Kate had worn a rich, floral perfume. It was sweet, but not overwhelming, and when wind blows during spring, he catches it in the air sometimes. He thinks it might be honeysuckle. Whatever it is, it emanates from Stiles, cloying and nauseating in its intensity. 

Derek hates the smell and he’d do anything to get Stiles to stop emitting it. Even if it means talking to Stiles.

“Not that I care,” Derek makes a point of clarifying, “But doesn’t that put you at risk?”  
“You know, I don’t like you just assuming that I’m a-”

“Stiles.” Derek interrupts, shooting him a pointed look. 

“Yes.” Stiles hisses, pulling his hoodie on. “I’m a virgin, okay. Me, I’m a virgin. And now my lack of sexual experience is literally a threat to my life.” Stiles says, voice rising in panic and eyes wide. He gesticulates wildly as he talks and Derek swears to whatever deity that exists, that if Stiles hits him, Derek _will_ end him. “I need to have sex, like, right now. Somebody needs to have sex with me, like, today.” Stiles’ eyes sweep around the locker room behind Derek, like he’s going to find a candidate to sleep with in here. “Like, somebody needs to sex me right now!” Stiles yells, slamming his locker shut. 

Derek stares at him blankly, not sure what to do with his little freak out. A guy, who’s standing behind Stiles, speaks up before Derek gets a chance to say anything.

“Okay, I’ll do it.” The guy says. 

Derek first recognizes him as the tech kid who helped them track a text message a while back. He second recognizes him as Jackson’s best friend, third as the lacrosse goalie, and fourth as Danny, the gay guy. 

Stiles yells, swinging his head around to face Danny. There’s a short pause and then, “What?”

Danny smirks. “Come to my place at nine. Plan to stay the night; I like to cuddle.”

Stiles looks back at Derek curiously and then turns to Danny. “That is so sweet. Are you kidding?”

“Yes. I’m kidding!” Danny rolls his eyes, walking around them.

“Okay, you know, you don’t toy with a guy’s emotions like that, Danny, it’s not attractive.” Stiles turns his attention to Derek, who’s smirking. “Oh, shut up.” He snaps.  
“Mr. Lahey,” the Coach’s voice draws Derek’s attention to the other side of the locker room, “How nice of you to join us.”

Isaac’s standing there, holding his backpack and looking out of place. Derek feels that instant, visceral hit of recognition that werewolves get when they identify their own, and it occurs to him that he still recognizes Isaac as pack. That could be problematic. 

The coach rambles on about lacrosse and Isaac shuffles over to his locker, located near Danny’s, and begins stripping. Derek averts his attention. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Scott doesn’t stay at Deaton’s long. Frustrating as the situation is, there’s really not that much to talk about, though they do manage to work out his work schedule. He still gets to come in and help out, but it’s best that he comes at night or late evening, when there are less people. How Deaton’s going to explain the new trainee, Scott’s not sure, but he doesn’t worry too much. They’ll work something out.

Scott walks back to Derek’s apartment since Stiles is off with Derek. It’s alright, up until he gets into the more populated area.

Beacon Hills is a small town, so it’s not surprising that there are people who still notice the resident murder suspect – even if he was cleared of charges. Scott never considered it before, but eyes of suspicion peer out at him from every crowd and people keep their distance, moving out of their way to avoid him. It’s really lonely. 

Scott sighs, tucking Derek’s too large hands in Derek’s pants pockets and keeping his head down. Derek has really good peripheral vision, so Scott manages to pretty effortlessly avoid running into things. Of course that also means that, despite his best efforts, he doesn’t get to fully ignore the stares that follow after him. 

Scott feels his control start to slip, anger making his more primal instincts itch under Derek’s skin. Scott takes in a deep breath, trying to think calming thoughts. It doesn’t seem to work and he’s pretty sure his eyes are going red when Derek’s phone vibrates. Scott pulls it out with longer nails than usual and looks at the screen. It’s a text message from Stiles and Scott’s stomach flips. He hopes it’s nothing bad. 

**From: Stiles**  
 **Danny just offered to de-virginize me. As a joke. How fucked up is that?  
How are you? Bite anyone yet?**

By the time Scott finishes reading the text, he’s feeling significantly calmer. It’s a momentary relief, but Scott knows it won’t last long. He really needs to find an anchor.  
He shoots off a quick text message, fumbling with Derek’s gigantic fingers.

**To: Stiles**  
 **No. How’s Derek?**

The reply comes almost immediately. 

**From: Stiles**  
 **Angry. Scary. Terrible. You guys really need to switch back.**

Scott frowns and is about to text back when Derek’s phone vibrates again.

**From: Stiles**  
 **Coach just blew whistle. Gotta run.**

Scott shakes his head, tucking Derek’s cell back in his pocket and continuing his journey. When he finally reaches Derek’s loft, he’s feeling calm but also melancholy. There’s this weird emptiness that’s settled in his gut and his energy seems to have escaped him. He lets out a slow gust of air, walking through the lobby and stepping into the elevator. It rocks roughly as it ascends, the unsteady motion fitting well with Scott’s malaise, and Scott stares in disconnected fascination at Derek’s reflection. He feels frozen, suspended in the moment, and only hazily registers the elevator doors slipping open. 

Blinking tiredly, Scott steps into the loft, roughly slammed back into reality when he spots a figure standing in the room. 

“Who are you?” He asks, Derek’s voice coming out rough as he maneuvers Derek’s body into a fight stance. 

The girl turns and Scott freezes. “Cora?” He whispers, recognizing Derek’s sister. She looks different in the daylight. The wildness has left her face, and he can make out the hollowness of her features. She’s too pale and she looks withered and beaten. He wonders if the alphas have been feeding her. He wonders how long she was locked in there. 

“So this is where you’re living?” Cora asks, gesturing at the loft. Her clothes are covered in twigs and mud and her hair hangs in strings around her face. Her clothes are torn and caked in blood. She notices Scott’s gaze and picks at one of her sleeves. “It was a homeless man, I think. This,” She points at the leg of her pants, where a long tear runs across the thigh, visible even through all the dried brown stains, “Was a camper. He got a few swipes in before I…” She trials off, meeting Scott’s gaze and swallowing thickly.

“How’d you find De – my loft.” Scott says. If she notices her slip, she doesn’t show it.

“Scent. When they brought Boyd in, he smelled like you. Plus, I got a pretty good whiff last night.” Cora says. 

Scott stares at her. He can’t quite figure out his emotions. He’s a little amazed, he thinks, because this is Derek’s sister, and he can see the resemblance, but he’s also a little wary because the last time he saw her she was feral. And she just admitted to killing two people. 

“You, uh, you don’t have any food in here.” Cora says, looking away and stepping around the room. She keeps twitching, like she can’t really keep still, and Scott has the epiphany that four months locked in a vault might make her a bit uneasy about closed in spaces. 

“Are you hungry?” Scott asks.

“Starving.” 

Scott knows a good diner on the edge of town. They have an outdoor eating area. “We could go get something to eat.” He offers. 

“Know anywhere that serves blood-covered teenagers?” Cora asks wryly, but the joke’s weak and her face doesn’t show any playfulness. 

“I’ll go look for some clothes.” Scott says awkwardly, starting for the bedroom. He pauses, turning back to her. She looks at him, jaw clenched and eyes a little lost. “Bathroom’s that way. There’s, um, there’s a shower, if you want it.” He says uncomfortably. 

She gives a curt nod. 

Scott moves to the bedroom, listening as she heads to get cleaned up. He realizes he forgot to ask what happened to Boyd. He gives himself a mental reminder to ask later. Now, he needs to find some clothes for Derek’s not-dead sister. Who’s stripping in the bathroom. Awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason when I originally uploaded this, the conversation between Allison and Derek got cut out. I've since fixed that. (It happens on the way to the locker room, for those who are interested.)


	4. The Fast and the Fur-ious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news, I'm starting updating again. I'm so, _so_ sorry for not getting this chapter up sooner and for not doing anything with this story in so long. The big bang didn't work out, but this story's my top priority at the moment. Chapters should be coming up weekly now (but please be patient. These things are monsters to write.) I promise I won't disappear for a year next time. 
> 
> Cover art done by the absolutely fantastic blackbirdrose

**Chapter 4; The Fast and the Fur-ious**

Scott digs around in Derek’s closet, trying to ignore the background sound of the shower running. It feels almost voyeuristic, which is kind of ridiculous, since he can’t gather anything from the noise of the shower, but just knowing there’s a naked stranger only a few rooms away – especially when that naked stranger is Cora Hale, the sister of Derek Hale, who Scott’s currently residing in – is kind of uncomfortable. Particularly since this is supposed to be Derek and Cora’s reunion and Scott can’t help the guilty feeling that he’s stealing it. He wonders if he should text Derek to let him know before thinking better of it. Derek’s in school right now and it won’t do to distract him.

All of Derek’s clothes are, predictably, far too big for Cora. Scott digs around through Henley’s, jeans, and leather jackets, hoping to find something that will at least work for the time being, and comes up empty. It’s not till he looks at the bottom of the closet that he finds some hope - a garbage bag, filled with smaller clothing. He unties the plastic, confronted with the musty smell of cucumbers and old varnish, mixing with cheap shampoo and lipstick. 

Scott peers into the bag, freezing at the sight of bras, skinny jeans, and low cut blouses. He knows it, but he still takes a minute to let the fact that these are Erica’s clothes sink in.

Scott doesn’t count seeing Erica’s dead body as the last time he saw her, because that hadn’t been her, it had been her remains. No, Scott counts the night she’d been at the club with Jackson and Isaac as the last time he saw her, because that had been when she was alive and herself, slinking through the club with confidence and bravado and laying claim to lust filled gazes. Even so, he can’t stop his brain from associating the mere idea of her with the lifeless body clutched in Derek’s arms. He doesn’t know what Derek did with Erica’s corpse, afterwards. He should ask, he thinks. 

“Derek?” Cora’s voice echoes from the bathroom.

Scott realizes the water’s off now. “Yeah?” He calls, grabbing the garbage bag and standing. He figures something in there ought to fit her. 

“Do you have any towels?”

Scott’s eyes widen. “Aren’t they in the bathroom?” He asks.

“I couldn’t find any.” 

Well, shit. 

“Um.” Scott mutters, looking around in a panic. “Uh…Towel. Towel, towel, towel.” He whispers under his breath, frantically eyeing the room like a towel’s going to jump out at him. It doesn’t. 

“Derek?” Cora calls again and Scott grimaces.

“Uh, just a minute!” Scott replies. There aren’t any towels in Derek’s closet and he can’t spot any lying around. Scott bites his lips, pulling the blanket off Derek’s bed. It’ll have to do for now. 

Scott leaves the bedroom quickly, the blanket dragging behind him from one hand and the garbage bag crinkling in another. He makes is a few feet before skidding to a halt, spotting a door he hadn’t noticed before. It’s innocuous enough, blending into the background and it was really only coincidence that Scott noticed it at all.

Scott licks Derek’s lips nervously, finding them chapped and salty, and reaches forward with his blanket hand, turning the door handle. It turns out to be another closet, this one compiled of shelves filled with various, miscellaneous supplies. Towards the top, the compartments are stuffed with white, linen towels of various sizes. Scott grins victoriously, reaching up to pull one from the stack. It doesn’t want to give, though, and Scott applies a little more force, sending the pile toppling out of the closet and falling around him. He may have under-estimated Derek’s strength. 

“Derek?” Cora’s voice is clearer now and Scott turns sheepishly. Cora’s head pokes out from behind the now open door, her face framed by dripping tendrils of curling hair and her naked body hidden behind the wooden entrance. Her eyebrows are raised high on her forehead as she takes him in and he realizes that as far as long-lost brother’s go, he’s making a less than stellar impression. 

He looks down at himself, wondering how silly he must look, standing there with a garbage bag, a ratty blanket, and one lone towel, whose fallen members are now scattered at his feet, or, in the case of one rebellious linen, resting on his head. 

“I, uh, I found the towels.” Scott says awkwardly.

“I can see that.” Cora mutters.

Scott feels Derek’s cheeks heat and shuffles forward, overly aware of the fact that Cora’s naked and freshly showered and right there. And yeah, he can’t see anything, but that doesn’t stop the nervous flicker in his stomach, and he has to stop and remind himself that he’s supposed to be Cora’s _brother._

“Here.” He says, thrusting his arm out and giving her the towel. She takes it, disappearing behind the door. After a moment of shuffling, she comes back in view, pulling the door further open and standing there with nothing but white linen to cover her. Scott feels Derek’s face heat further and he has no idea where to look. 

Scott’s no stranger to nudity or near nudity. His mother sometimes walks through the hall, nothing but a towel on as she makes her way from the bathroom to her bedroom, and Scott never thinks anything of it. He changes in the locker room at school all the time and never spares a thought (except for how he can’t ever look at Stiles, because there’s something really surreal about seeing the naked planes of Stiles’ body, vulnerable in a way that makes Scott want to shield him from view,) and he’s seen Allison naked. Which is probably a bad example, because Allison always made his heart race and his blood simmer, which is the opposite of what he should be feeling in this circumstance. 

The point is, Scott’s been around naked people before, but now it seems prying. Cora’s not exposing herself to him, she’s exposing herself to Derek, and it’s too invasive for Scott, so he keeps his eyes trained resolutely on her face.

“I found some clothes, too,” He says, holding out the trash bag. He feels weird handing her Erica’s clothing, and even as Cora’s fingers wrap around the plastic, he’s half-tempted to take it back. “You can pick whatever you want.” He says instead, stuffing Derek’s hands in the pockets of Derek’s jeans and ignoring the guilt that unfurls inside him when Cora nods, disappearing back into the bathroom to change. 

Scott sighs and wonders, not for the first time, if he’s doing the right thing. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles tucks his phone back into the pocket of his grey hoodie as he trails out of the locker room. He managed to get a few texts in to Scott before Coach blew the whistle, ushering them all out for cross country. It wasn’t much, and he hadn’t gotten any information in return, but it was something to last him till the end of class.

It’s simultaneously surprising and yet not surprising at all just how much Stiles actually misses Scott at the moment. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s been missing Scott since about…well, since about the time Scott made first line, back in January.

It’s now September.

It’s not that Stiles can’t handle Scott being around other people. He’s totally cool with Scott having other friends. Hell, he’s totally fine with Scott having other _best_ friends. 

Actually, no, scratch that. That’s not okay at all. Not unless they can come up with some sort of different category for Stiles that still keeps him at the top of the priorities list. In that capacity, the possibilities are, admittedly, limited and Stiles doesn’t let himself acknowledge them. That way, he thinks, lies madness. 

It would be hypocritical, though, to deny Scott his association with others. Stiles, after all, has relationships outside of his and Scott’s. Well, okay, most of those are online, but he has, at the very least, begun forging relationships with…Lydia. So, yeah, his social landscape is limited, but he’s always kind of been a one friend sort of guy anyway, but that’s beside the point, which is that Stiles doesn’t resent Scott for finding other people to talk to. He just wishes these people didn’t require so many of Scott’s words, because Stiles is starting to feel the effect now that significantly fewer of them are aimed in his direction. 

The short of it is that it feels as though Stiles hasn’t seen his best friend in months, and sometimes, on darker days, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t. 

It’s strange, because Scott’s changes really are only physical. Scott’s always cared about other people, there’s nothing new about that. Scott, of course, never went around playing the swash-buckling hero before. (Not that he’s swashing any buckles now, but sometimes Stiles pictures post-bite Scott like he’s on the cover of a dime store romance novel, an open shirt showing off his glistening chest and Fabio locks blowing in the wind.)

Of course, before all this, Scott never really had cause to go around protecting people.

The only people in Beacon Hills who really went around getting into trouble were Scott and Stiles, and Stiles is the Sheriff’s son. Even Jackson knew not to cross too many lines around him. And Scott? Well, Scott’s Stiles’ best friend, so he got away with a lot too, and when he didn’t, Stiles would always stick his neck out for him. 

But the ingredients were always there for post-bite Scott. His morality, his bravery, his optimism, his stubbornness – they were all there, they’ve just finally had time to mix. And Stiles sometimes feels a little resentful, because everyone sees Scott now, and Stiles is stuck back in the shadows. It’s lonely, without Scott there with him. But he also feels a little bit possessive, and that’s what really makes his chest ache. 

Stiles isn’t sure where it comes from, but there’s a part of him that hates how he has to share Scott. Even this new Scott, who doesn’t need to use an inhaler and who Stiles has to struggle to keep up with rather than slow down for. And maybe it’s because he hasn’t quite adjusted to him yet, or maybe it’s because the only Scott these people really know is the one who swoops in to save the day, not the one who had secret sleepovers with Stiles or once confessed to having a crush on Mrs. Grady, their old librarian, but every time Scott runs off with these new people in his life, Stiles feels strangely abandoned. He thought it would get better, but if he’s being honest with himself (and he figures, why stop now) it’s only gotten worse. 

Stiles is so lost in his thoughts that he barely registers joining the group for stretching. He’s only brought back to reality by Isaac’s voice. 

“It’s them.” Isaac hisses and Stiles looks up. Isaac’s face is contorted in rage and a bit of fear as he stares at Derek, who’s maneuvered Scott’s body into a sort of awkward squat, like he’s trying to stretch but he has no idea how. 

Stiles briefly entertains the idea that he probably doesn’t.

“Who?” Stiles asks while Derek twists Scott’s face into a confused frown. Not a Scott confused frown, but a Derek confused frown, which entails thinly pressed lips and lowered eyebrows.

Isaac nods backwards with his head and Stiles follows his gesture to find a group of people standing there. Stiles glances at each of their faces before honing in on the twins, because naturally, it’s the new kids.

“The alphas.” Isaac explains. 

Stiles’ heart skips and he glances at Derek, who’s all Hale Rage as he stares at their unwelcome guests. 

“Hey.” Stiles says, getting Derek’s attention. Derek looks at him and Stiles falters at the fury hidden in Scott’s hazelnut eyes. He has to remind himself that it isn’t Scott he’s looking at, but it doesn’t stop him from flinching or looking away. Stiles takes a deep breath, lifting his eyes back to Derek and shaking his head. “Leave it.” He warns.

Derek frowns.

There’s a momentary pause, where both Isaac and Stiles stare at Derek (or, rather, Scott, in Isaac’s case) and Stiles can see the doubt flash across Scott’s expression. He feels a brief bit of hope bloom in his chest that Derek just might, possibly, listen to Stiles for once. 

The hope dissipates when Isaac snorts. “Whatever, I’m going after them.” Isaac says, turning.

Derek rises from his position and Stiles follows after. 

“Hey.” Stiles says. He reaches his hand out, placing it on Scott’s shoulder. A second later, his forearm’s locked in a painful death grip and Derek’s in his space, Scott’s face only a few inches from his own. 

“Don’t touch me.” Derek warns, his grip tightening. Stiles is pretty sure his bone’s about to snap and he’s positive he’s going to come away with a mean bruise. His knees jiggle and he knows he’s about to fall, but he meets Derek’s glare with one of his own. 

“You really want to go after him?” Stiles hisses, voice laced with anger and pain. He’s really not sure which one has more weight at the moment. “You really think that’s a good idea?” He continues, watching as Derek contorts Scott’s eyebrows into a furrow, his grip tightening just a fraction. Stiles wonders, not for the first time, just how far Derek actually is from doing some serious damage. He keeps pushing anyway.“You’re not brave enough to go after them in your own body, but you think you can manage in Scott’s?” Stiles sneers and Derek’s eyes narrow, all trace of Scott sapped from Scott’s face. “If you want to go get yourself killed, then _fine._ But at least wait until you’re switched back.” Stiles bites out, legs finally wavering. 

Scott’s nostrils flare and Derek relinquishes his grip, glaring at Stiles who stumbles and then rights himself. Stiles feels the weight of Derek’s stare and stiffens his posture, ignoring the shaking in his limbs and the throbbing in his arm that makes him want to hold it protectively to himself, and he stubbornly pretends like he’s totally fine. Because he is. He’s fine. He’s fucking dandy. 

Derek turns, following after Isaac with an unimpressed huff. When he’s out of sight, Stiles takes an unsteady breath. “Dammit.” He curses, bringing his fingers up to prod at his forearm. It feels like a heated band’s been wrapped around his muscle, and he can feel the blood pulsing underneath. 

Coach is up ahead, shouting instructions, but Stiles doesn’t pay attention, wincing as his fingers poke at tender flesh. Yeah, he’s going to bruise. 

“Hey,” A voice whispers in his ear and Stiles jumps, looking up to find Danny standing beside him, watching him with concern. “You okay?” Danny asks. 

Stiles frowns, wondering how much Danny overheard. 

“It’s just…that looked pretty intense.” Danny explains, gesturing between Stiles and the space where Derek had been standing. 

“Oh.” Stiles mutters “What, that?” Stiles asks, mirroring Danny’s gesture. “That was nothing. That was just, you know, a little friendly, pre-run banter between friends.” Stiles explains easily, playing it off. 

Danny nods, though he doesn’t look convinced. “Right. Friendly banter.”

Stiles wracks his brain, trying to come up with something else to say in response to Danny’s unwavering stare, but he’s saved from his predicament when Coach blows the whistle. Students take off around him, even Danny joining the fray after a moment of hesitation, and Stiles scans the crowd, spotting Isaac running up ahead behind the twins. Derek is right behind him and Stiles huffs incredulously. 

“Yeah, that won’t draw attention.” Stiles mutters, watching Derek’s awkward attempts at maneuvering Scott’s body.

Scott’s legs are too far apart and his arms are lifted halfway up, but they’re frozen, like Derek’s forgotten what to do with them. Derek moves Scott’s feet forward, his legs jerking along after them. His strides are stiff and awkward, more resemblant of a toddler trying to keep up than a 17 year old lacrosse player. He’s fast though, Stiles will give him that. 

“Stilinski!” Coach shouts, making Stiles jump. “Get a move on!”

“Yes, Coach.” Stiles says, kicking up dirt as he takes off. His body protests, slow from fatigue, and his stomach takes the opportunity to grumble pathetically, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten breakfast. Stiles pushes himself anyway, kicking up dust as he moves up the hill, ignoring the ache in his side and the twinge in his arm. He’s fine. He’s totally fine. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Derek lets go of Stiles, ignoring (and maybe, just a little, relishing) his gasp of pain.

Derek turns, weaving through the crowd and toward Isaac, who’s positioned himself not-so-subtly a short distance away from the twins. Isaac’s bent into a lunge, his eyes trained stubbornly on the alphas, and though he gets stiffer when Derek comes up beside him, he doesn’t show any other sign that he notices Derek’s presence.

It’s unusual. Derek’s used to Isaac’s eyes tracking his motion, the beta cataloguing his movements for reference. 

“You sure this is a good idea?” Derek asks, mirroring Isaac’s position. He forgets himself a moment and goes in too quickly, almost toppling over. He’s fine walking, but he can’t really seem to find his center of balance when he tries more complicated maneuvers. He wouldn’t think Scott’s body would be that drastically different, but it takes far more concentration to keep himself steady than he thinks it should. 

Isaac notices too, judging by the way his lips twitch and he flashes his eyes in Derek’s direction. Derek bites down his irritation and concentrates on bending, because contrary to what Stiles seems to think, Derek really is trying. It’s just very difficult.

It’s not that Derek isn’t nice. He’s perfectly equipped to be and he likes to think he’s rather genial, all things considered. It’s just that Scott’s so ridiculously nice that it would be impossible to mimic it. 

Derek ignores the small voice in the back of his head that reminds him that he’s probably forgotten how. 

“I’m sure they’re killing people.” Isaac says in response to Derek’s question. “And I’m sure they need to be stopped.”

“And you think you’re the one that’s gonna stop them?”

Isaac looks at him, expression unreadable, though determined. “I think I’m the only one that’s gonna try.”

Derek’s stomach drops at Isaac’s lack of confidence in him. He wants to tell Isaac that he’s trying, that if Isaac was just patient he’d see that. He wants to lecture Isaac, because his foolish, foolish beta has no idea just how dangerous this is. Instead, he takes a deep breath and wonders what Scott would do in this situation. Probably try to talk Isaac out of it. Derek’s not sure if he can – if he was in his own body, yeah, but he doubts Isaac would listen to Scott. 

“Do you at least have a plan?” Derek asks. 

Isaac looks away, jaw ticking. “They killed the girl that saved me.” Isaac shrugs. “I’m gonna kill them too.” 

Derek frowns. “Alone?” 

Isaac looks at him again. “You gonna help me?” He asks wryly. 

Stiles’ voice echoes in Derek’s mind. _“You’re not brave enough to go after them in your own body, but you think you can manage in Scott’s?”_

“Yes.” Derek says, looking up at the alpha twins. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Scott and Cora have to walk to the diner, because Scott doesn’t know where Derek’s car is and doesn’t really trust himself to drive it anyway. He tells Cora, who’s dressed in a baggy pair of ripped jeans, a loose t-shirt, and a leather jacket, that his car’s unavailable, but he doesn’t offer more than that and she doesn’t seem to care.

He doesn’t tell Cora where he got the clothes she’s wearing and she doesn’t question it. She gives them a curious sniff, though, and he wonders if she recognizes the smell. He’s not sure if she was in captivity with Erica. He doesn’t ask. 

Scott also doesn’t ask if she wants to borrow a razor, even though he can see a generous amount of leg hair poking out from the tears in Erica’s jeans. Cora notices his gaze and shifts, lifting her chin defiantly. 

“It was three months.” Cora says, voice strong and steady. Her expression’s veiled in the same way Derek’s usually is, though her anger and bitterness still poke through. Scott’s starting to see the familial resemblance, and with her cleaned up, he realizes that she kind of smells like Derek too. “In a vault.” Cora continues, voice breaking towards the end. She swallows, stubbornly reining in her composure. “There wasn’t exactly a lot of grooming.” 

Cora’s scent has the same woodsy quality as Derek’s, but while Derek smells mostly of smoke and cedar, Cora’s odor is sort of damp and mossy. Where Derek smells like ash, Cora smells like growth. 

“It’s okay.” Scott says. He knows it might not be the right response – she hasn’t asked and he’s not so sure what Derek would say in these circumstances, if he’d say anything at all, but it’s the only thing Scott can think to say. 

Cora looks at him for a moment, eyebrows furrowing, and then shakes her head. “No it’s not.” She mutters, turning and walking towards the elevator. 

It’s the same route, back in the elevator and down through the lobby. This time, Scott stares at Cora’s expression rather than his own, watching as she alternates between fidgeting and standing still – like she’s not sure what to do with herself. He wonders if it’s the enclosed space and reminds himself to ask Derek if there are stairs leading to the loft. 

The walk through town isn’t as lonely as it was before, and Scott kind of hates how grateful he is to have Cora’s company. She looks just as much an outcast as him, and even as she maintains her composure, he can tell how uneasy she is. It shouldn’t be comforting. 

There are questions he’s supposed to be asking, he thinks. Derek’s Cora’s long lost brother and even though Scott’s an only child, he knows that means something. He doesn’t know what, but there should be a link between the two of them, a desire to reconnect, and even if he can’t feel it, he thinks he should probably try bonding with her.

That might be a dangerous road to go down though. He knows nothing about Derek’s family, so if she tries to reminisce, he’ll have to lie, and he’s not very good at that. Best to keep silent, then. 

The buildings start to thin as they near the edge of town and the restaurant comes into view. Located just off the highway, the Black Bear Diner is a glossed, wooden lodge sat against a scenic inlay of pines and evergreens. It’s a familiar and bittersweet sight for Scott. 

Scott doesn’t tell Stiles the story behind the baseball bat. He doesn’t talk about Sundays at the park with his dad, or going to the diner afterwards. He never brings up how Baseball Sundays gradually faded over the years to make room for someone else’s kid and some other family. He doesn’t talk about finding the baseball bat in his mom’s garage, stashed behind some boxes after the divorce. He’d stared at it for a while, wondering if he’d find his dad’s old baseball glove in there too – the one Scott always dreamed of owning, just waiting until his hand was big enough to fit it. 

His mom had walked in on him before he’d had a chance to put the bat away. She’d given him that sad, confused look, the one she always gets when someone brings up Mr. McCall. It tells so many more stories than her words ever could.

If Scott were to ever tell Stiles the story of the baseball bat, he’d end it there. He’d say that’s how they came to use the bat as a weapon to ward off criminals and Stiles would nod, his curiosity sated, and the subject would be dropped. Because even though these are the things Scott _doesn’t_ talk, there are certain things he _can’t_ talk about. He can’t talk about his mom bringing him to the park when his dad couldn’t. He can’t talk about his mom starting up Baseball Sundays again after Scott finds the bat. He can’t talk about going to the diner one painful afternoon and staring at his mom across the table and really realizing, for the first time, that she was struggling too. He’d known it, of course, but staring at her under the overhead lights, taking in the bags under her eyes and the lines in her face – not smile lines, but frown lines – it had been like seeing her for the first time. 

Scott guards these memories; he keeps them close to his chest, because they’re painful, but they’re special too. They’re private and meaningful and he doesn’t want to share them with anyone. 

A tinkling bell announces Scott and Cora’s arrival into the restaurant and they’re met by a cheerful waiter, whose smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes and who gives them a suspicious glance before grabbing menus. “Two?” He asks – an automatic question more than a genuine inquiry. 

Scott nods but the waiter’s already walking away.

“Can we have an outside table?” Scott asks as he follows after him.

“It is a beautiful day, isn’t it?” The waiter says, changing direction and leading them to the patio.

They’re seated at a worn, round table that sways to one side when Scott settles into the wooden bench. A folded umbrella grows up from the center, but Scott doesn’t imagine it gets much use when the nearby pines offer ample shade. And even with noon approaching and the California sun looming threateningly in the sky, the breeze kicking up from the forest is enough to keep them cool.

Cora slides into the bench next to his and the waiter leaves them to their menus. Scott watches her out of his periphery as he skims the meal list, thoughts trailing anxiously to Derek. It’s not that he doesn’t trust the other wolf, he just kind of…doesn’t really trust Derek not to mess things up. He doesn’t trust himself not to mess things up, if he’s being honest. He misses Stiles.

“Do you know what you want?” Scott asks, venturing a conversation with Cora. They might not be able to reminisce, but it seems wrong for them to not be talking at all.

Cora, for her part, doesn’t seem terribly eager to engage, her wide eyes focusing ravenously on the menu in front of her as her stomach lets out an audible rumble.

“Meat.” Cora growls, eyes flashing gold.

That’s…not good.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Scott asks quietly. 

Cora snorts. “You think I’m gonna eat someone?”

“No.” Scott protests. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Cora stiffens. 

“Not even you.” Scott adds, because…well, because it’s true. Because even though he’s not sure whether he trusts her and even though she’s already killed (or just maimed, he thinks optimistically) two people, he also knows what it’s like when the wolf takes over. He understands the guilt he felt when he thought he killed that bus driver, and he thinks he can, at the very least, begin to understand just a tiny bit of what she’s going through. 

“I’ll heal.” Cora argues, looking at him with an indecipherable expression.

“Physically.” Scott counters. 

Cora frowns, staring at him for a moment, then seems to shake herself out of it. “Are you always this sappy?” She asks. 

Scott blinks. “What?”

“You know, this whole ‘let’s talk about your emotions, love and support’ thing?” Cora says, like it’s a bad thing. “What happened to the guy that used to run off and brood in the woods?”

 _‘He’s still around.’_ Scott thinks. _‘Just in my body.’_

Scott’s surprised though. Derek’s broody, yes, but Scott figured that was a new thing. 

“He-” Scott starts, before correcting himself. “I used to run off and brood?”

Cora raises an eyebrow at him. “All the goddamn time.” 

Scott shrugs. “Well, now I have an apartment.” He says.

Cora snorts, looking back at her menu, and Scott feels just a little bit better. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

When Finstock blows the whistle, Isaac takes off like a shot, following after the twins who are, surprisingly, equally eager in their pace. The lack of subtlety on all their parts has Derek huffing out an irritated breath, flaring Scott’s nostrils with the force of it. He’d roll his eyes too, but he’s too busy concentrating on how to get Scott’s body to cooperate. If walking was hard, it’s nothing compared to running. 

While the arches of Scott’s feet carry far less pain than Derek’s, the balls of Scott’s feet are unusually tender, so when Derek takes off, he has to hold back a cringe as spider webs of pain ripple through the bone. The unexpectedness of it is what makes it so striking and when Derek goes to take his second step, more prepared for the sensation this time, he finds it less potent. 

His next challenge presents itself in Scott’s legs, which are too stiff and don’t move the right way. They seem to want to go outward and Scott’s knees protest when Derek tries to move them straight on. Derek grits his teeth in frustration, fights down the irritation that of course Scott’s teeth don’t fit together quite the right way either – his teeth too even in length and his molars not quite matching up – and pushes past the oddness. Derek thinks he does a pretty admirable job, even though Scott’s feet hit the ground too soon and even though his sense of balance and spatial-depth perception are still compromised.

Noticing that Isaac and the twins have disappeared from his eyeline, Derek picks up the pace, pushing ahead of the other students and trying desperately not to acknowledge the way Scott’s penis jostles with the motion. The heat makes Scott’s testicles hang low and they bounce with each stride, rubbing against the material of Scott’s briefs. It’s not an entirely unpleasant sensation and Derek’s never hated Scott more than he does in that moment. 

Derek takes in a deep breath, calming his frayed nerves and trying to focus his attention elsewhere. He’s past the other students now, just maneuvering around the dirt bend. He can’t hear anything, but the scent of motor oil hangs in the air. That’s definitely the twins.

Beneath that, Derek catches the faint odor of petunias that he’s come to associate with Isaac. It’s mostly overpowered by the alphas though, who haven’t bothered to cover their scent at all. Either they’re very good at stealth or - and Derek suspects this one is more likely - they _want_ to be chased. 

Gold bleeds into Derek’s vision and he feels a rumble go through Scott’s chest, traveling up his throat and out of his mouth. He realizes he’s wolfing out, even before he feels claws rip through his finger tips, but he dashes off anyway, following the scent of petroleum. It leads off the path, and Derek’s mildly grateful that the werewolves had enough sense not to make a spectacle of themselves right out in the middle of the cross country track. 

What few trees there are thin as he follows the alpha’s scent trail, kicking up dirt with each stride. Hills and rocks offer plenty of shelter from view though, and given the rough terrain, he doubts this area sees many visitors. It’s desert and Derek wonders just how far from the school they’ve managed to wonder. At least two miles, he thinks, which isn’t far at all for a werewolf, but would definitely be suspicious for a couple of teenagers. 

Derek pauses, breathing a bit heavier from the extra strain of running in a foreign body. He’s standing in a relatively open area, flanked by two rock ledges, which plateau about ten feet above him. There’s a scraggly tree on his left and a small shrub up ahead, but the rest is just dirt and bright sunlight. The space above the desert floor is blurry with heat and he can feel a drop of sweat roll down Scott’s neck. The scent of motor oil still hangs in the air. 

Derek cocks Scott’s head, straining his ears to catch any sounds of life nearby. There’s a bird in the distance, the small shuffling of a desert animal across the dirt, and a slight breeze whispering over the area, but other than that, it’s strangely silent, no audible trace of the other werewolves. The smell of petunias is missing as well. 

The immediate rush of adrenaline and aggression he’d felt earlier has abated, and Scott’s eyes fade back to brown of their own accord. Derek manages enough control to keep Scott’s claws out, though it takes more effort than it should, and he starts to feel more than a little uneasy. Anxiety coils around his determination and he starts to wonder just what sort of trap he might have walked into. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Scott must’ve gotten lost in his thoughts again, because next thing he knows the waiter’s clearing his throat, bringing Scott back from his daze. The waiter’s standing at the side of their table, holding their plates in hand. He sets Cora’s down in front of her – a rare steak, which had gotten them an eyebrow raise but nothing more – and then passes Scott his breakfast, the more typical scrambled eggs and bacon. 

The server leaves and Scott stares down at his plate, surprised. He doesn’t dislike eggs, but they’re something he’s never found particularly enticing. Now, even though they look the same and smell the same, his mouth starts salivating and his stomach lurches longingly. 

Cora’s already dug into her breakfast, lifting the steak with her bare hands and tearing into it greedily. Scott doesn’t say anything, just reaches for the ketchup and unscrews the top, pouring the sauce at the side of his eggs. This, for some reason, gives Cora pause. Her nose crinkles in disgust and she looks at the condiment then up at Scott in surprise.

“Ketchup?” She asks around a mouthful of meat. 

“Yeah.” Scott says, frowning as he picks up his fork. He hasn’t done anything especially odd. 

“I thought you didn’t like ketchup?” Cora points out, taking a huge bite of her steak.

“Thing’s change?” Scott offers, because he loves ketchup and there’s no way he’s going without just because Derek’s a picky eater. Scott scoops up a sauce covered piece of egg and happily sticks it into Derek’s mouth. 

Some thing’s do not change, apparently, and Cora looks at him with raised eyebrows when he spits the egg out immediately and bends away from the table, coughing. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with Derek’s taste buds, but ketchup is _foul_ , bitter and too sweet and the worst combination of sour and over spiced, yet strangely bland all the same. And it’s _slimy_. And slimy shouldn’t be a taste, but somehow, in Derek’s mouth, it is. 

Scott avoids the ketchup after that, ignoring Cora’s smug look and mentally cursing Derek’s physiology.


	5. Cautionary Tails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The alpha pack finally makes an appearance and shit starts to get real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art done by the fabulous blackbirdrose
> 
> Also, It's safe to say this story will not be finished in 7 chapters. I've estimated it around 10 chapters instead.

**Chapter 5; Cautionary Tails**

Sheriff Stilinski sits at his desk, twisting a pencil between his fingers and staring ahead, eyes unfocused and mind preoccupied. A case file is open in front of him, lying forgotten as he thinks back to earlier. 

_The hospital room is sterile and cold. The sheriff’s spent a lot of time in hospital rooms, but they never feel more comfortable._

_Caitlin sits in her hospital-grade bed, fiddling with the corner of her itchy blanket. Tara Graeme stands beside him, letting him take the lead._

_“Last night, when we talked to you,” The sheriff starts, “You said something attacked you?”_

_Caitlin nods._

_“Could you describe it?”_

_Caitlin bites her lip, staring down at her lap thoughtfully. She shrugs after a moment. “I don’t know. It was dark. It was probably, like, a bear, maybe?”_

_The sheriff nods. He’ll have to ask Deaton later. “Could it have been a person” He asks._

_Caitlin starts to shake her head, but hesitates. “I guess. I…there was this guy there. He scared it off. I mean, maybe they knew each other? Maybe it was a prank or something.”_

_“A guy?” Deputy Graeme speaks up, looking surprised._

_“You know him?” The sheriff asks._

_“No.” Caitlin says. “But he asked if I was okay. He seemed alright.”_

_“Could you describe him?” Deputy Graeme asks, flipping to a blank page of her notepad._

_“He was young, like high school maybe or a college Freshman. He was dark.”_

_“Black?” The sheriff asks._

_“No, Mexican, I think.” Caitlin says._

_“Short, tall? Big, skinny, medium?”_

_“Average. And muscular, but not like Schwarzenegger or anything. Like, athletic. Dark hair. Brown eyes, I think?”_

_The sheriff nods._

_“Any distinguishing features?” He asks. “Tattoos, piercings, facial hair?”_

_Caitlin pauses, thinking. “His jaw.” She says, after a moment. “It was kind of, like, crooked?”_

_The sheriff’s stomach gives an unpleasant turn. “Deputy Graeme, could you take over?” He asks. “I’ll just be a minute.” After she nods, he exits the room, going through the halls quickly. “Melissa!” He calls when he spots Mrs. McCall at the desk, looking over a chart._

_“Sheriff?” She greets, confused._

_“Listen, this is gonna sound strange, but I need to ask a favor.”_

_The sheriff returns to Caitlin’s room two minutes later and hands her a school photo. “Do you recognize him?”_

_Caitlin stares at the picture. “That’s him.” She mutters. “I think.” She says, less confident the longer she looks at it. “It was really dark, you know? I could be wrong, but I think that’s him.”_

_The sheriff nods, feeling uneasy. Most people get unsure when they see the photos. The sheriff’s learned over the years that “I’m not sure, but I think it’s him” is a pretty good approximation of “that’s the one.”_

_“Thank you.” The sheriff says, taking the photo back. He returns it to Melissa as they’re leaving the hospital._

_“Was it him?” She asks, tense._

_“She’s not sure.” The sheriff replies, leaving it at that. Melissa lets out a breath and nods, lips pulling into a frown. There’s an unspoken tension rippling between them as Sheriff Stilinski turns to go._

The sheriff sighs. There are a couple of case files on his desk, ones he’s been keeping around for a while - the incident with Matt Daehler, Boyd and Erica’s missing case reports, Laura Hale’s murder, Peter Hale’s disappearance. The last one doesn’t seem to have any connection to Scott or Stiles, though the sheriff has a suspicion that he’d find one if he keeps digging. All the other ones have traces of Stiles and Scott in them. The connection with Boyd and Erica isn’t concrete, but the sheriff’s seen Stiles eyeing the posters with something akin to knowing in his expression. And there was an episode at the library a few months ago, some sort of ‘animal’ broke in and wrecked up some of the shelves during detention. Stiles was seen leaving with Erica in tow. So they knew each other, though Stiles gets shifty if the sheriff mentions it. 

It’s all starting to look not good. Actually, if the sheriff’s being honest, it’s been looking not good for a while now, but it’s getting to the point where he can’t really ignore it anymore. Especially if Scott might be connected to a missing girl. 

“What have you boys gotten into?” The sheriff mutters, dropping his pencil. It makes a clattering noise, hitting his work table and rolling over the edge. He rests his face in his hands, unable to shake the feeling that things have reached a breaking point and wishing, not for the first time, that Claudia was still with him.

 **X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles is pretty much done with this whole running thing and he’s praying for something, anything, to save him from his misery when a scream rings out over the area. The note of terror’s hard to miss - it’s the sort of thing he’s heard often enough since alpha wolves and kanimas made an appearance in his life – and his blood runs cold. His mind flashes through the limited possibilities, images of alpha twins and Scott’s dead body coming unbidden to his brain and propelling his legs forward, former fatigue forgotten in favor of adrenaline and panic. 

He makes better time than he’s probably ever made in his life, dashing around a curve and pushing past the group of frozen students, skidding to an abrupt stop in front of a large tree. The plant itself is rather unimpressive, indistinguishable from any other shrub in the area. Or, it would be, if there weren’t a corpse attached to it.

Stiles isn’t unaccustomed to dead bodies. It’s a sad fact of his life – particularly recently – that death’s been a big part of it, which he’d think would lessen the sting, but if anything, it makes it worse. 

The dead body - a girl, not much older than himself (not much older than Heather) – is strapped to the tree with nylon rope. Stiles knows it’s nylon because the sheriff had once had big plans to do a treehouse with a pulley system and they’d spent a lot of time at the hardware store going over the different types of rope and their individual merits. That was before his mom passed. The rope’s in the garage still, sitting there, useless. 

“Shit.” Stiles mutters, staring at the girl’s pallid complexion and the sickly purple bruises around her throat. There’s a long line where fishing line’s cut into her throat. The skin’s broken apart and the blood’s congealed. The worse thing, though, is that her eyes are open. They’re cloudy and terrified. It’s hard to tell amongst the dust and bruises and ghostly pallor, but there are faint marks that look like tear tracks. It’s probably just his imagination. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Stiles registers a movement, and when he looks over, he finds Derek’s joined everyone else. In the shock of it all, he almost manages to pretend Derek is Scott and he feels a small smidgen of something like relief and comfort. But everything about the body language registers as ‘wrong, wrong, wrong’ and there’s nothing like familiarity in the face that looks back at him. A cursory examination of the area tells him that Isaac and the twins are still missing. 

Stiles reaches into his hoodie, fingers finding his phone easily. He shoots a quick text to Scott – **‘Found dead body at the school.’** He gets a text back in a matter of seconds. 

**I know, I’m here.**

Stiles frowns in confusion, looking up and around. He lets out a groan when Derek waggles Scott’s phone. 

“Funny.” Stiles mutters sarcastically, knowing that Derek can hear him. Before he can send the text to the right phone, his dad shows up, ushering the students away from the crime scene and giving Stiles a disapproving look. 

“What were you doing so close to the body?” The sheriff hisses after he’s cornered Stiles by a cluster of trees, 10 feet from where police officers are taping off the scene.  
“I thought I could help.” Stiles shrugs. “You know, looking for clues.”

“First off, that’s not your job, Stiles. You don’t have a job.” The sheriff says and Stiles hopes they don’t get into that argument again. No one will hire him and he’s too busy with werewolves. Not that he can tell his dad that. “Second, what is this fascination with dead bodies?”

Stiles frowns, studying his dad. He seems strained. 

“I just take after my old man, I guess.” Stiles jokes lamely. 

The sheriff sighs. “Stiles, just…stop. This isn’t a game. This isn’t a joke. You need to stop involving yourself in these cases and just go play video games or get a paper route or date, I don’t care. Go off, be a teenager. Be _normal_ , please.” 

The sheriff stomps away, ducking under the crime scene tape while Stiles stares after him. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Everyone in town kind of hates Derek. Like, everyone. Scott takes Cora into the store on the way back from the diner so he buy her some things, and people glare and eye him suspiciously the whole time. Cora seems to sense it too. 

“Wow, everyone in town kinds of hates you.” She says. She’s not subtle. 

“It’s a long story.” Scott says, staring at the snack aisle. He wonders if she likes goldfish crackers. His mom used to pack them for his school lunches. They were his favorite.

Thinking about that leads Scott to another problem. 

“So…school?” He says, looking at the Cheez-its now. Does Cora even like cheese? God, he wishes he wasn’t Derek right now. And he’s not Derek, which makes the whole thing more frustrating. 

“What about it?” Cora asks. 

“Are you gonna go?” Scott asks. 

“You’re giving me a choice?” Cora counters. 

Scott frowns. “No?”

“Isn’t it a little late to play Happy Families?” Cora snaps, shifting uncomfortably. 

Scott sighs. “Do you want anything?” He asks, gesturing at the options. Cora shakes her head and Scott leads them to the exit. He figures he should find out where Derek’s kitchen is before he buys anything anyway.

They don’t talk again until they’re in the elevator, heading up to the loft, and then they both tense, smelling the intruder.

“Boyd.” Cora says. 

Scott nods, recognizing the scent. 

Boyd’s dirty and disheveled, but fortunately bloodless. He’s angry, glaring at Scott the minute he steps into the room. 

“Where is she?” Boyd growls. 

Scott looks at Cora, confused. 

“Erica.” Boyd clarifies and Scott’s stomach drops. Boyd sniffs and looks at Cora, eyeing her clothes. He must know they’re Erica’s, but he doesn’t say anything. “Derek, what did you do with her?” Boyd asks, voice taking on a mix of desperation. 

Truth is, Scott has no idea what Derek did with Erica’s body. He’s opening his mouth, trying to figure out what to say, when the elevator starts moving. They all look back in confusion.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles and Derek have to split up come the third class of the day, where Stiles has his free period and Scott has physics. 

“Isaac should be in that class too. If he hasn’t been murdered by crazy alphas.” Stiles says, as he leads Derek to Mr. Harris’ room. “Mr. Harris likes to pick on people, there’s nothing you can do about it, so don’t go all ‘grr’ when he acts like a jackass. Do you understand physics at all?” He asks, glancing at Derek. 

Stiles is fretting. He smells nervous – like sweat and adrenaline and a little bit like lemon drops. Derek’s Aunt Josephine had a thing about lemon drops. She always smelled like citrus and corn syrup when she pinched Derek’s cheeks and covered his face in wet, sloppy kisses. He shudders internally. 

Derek doesn’t answer the question. Not because he’s ignoring Stiles, but because he just isn’t sure what to say. He doesn’t understand physics, but if he says ‘no’, it’ll just set Stiles off. If he says ‘yes’, he’ll be lying, which he’s morally okay with but he doesn’t need Stiles breathing down his neck for it when he finds out. Plus he’s pretty sure Stiles is about three seconds from ditching him, and frankly, Derek needs his help. 

Stiles sighs. “Just don’t draw attention to yourself. And if you can, sit next to Danny. He’s the best in the class. And remember, if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He mutters. 

“What did I just say?” Stiles snaps. He stops outside a classroom and looks at Derek anxiously. “This is it.”

Derek nods, peering into the room. Mr. Harris is at his desk and the lab tables are already filling up. Isaac’s in there, alive and staring daggers at the front of the room. 

“You ready?” Stiles asks. 

Derek wants to roll his eyes again but manages to refrain. “Yes.” He says. 

“Right, well.” Stiles gives him a determined look. “Good luck.” He says. 

Derek’s pretty sure this is a moment where Stiles and Scott would exchange some sort of physical sign of friendship. He gives Stiles a tentative tap on the shoulder with his fist. 

Stiles looks at the retreating hand curiously, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Okay. Bye.” Derek says stiffly, stepping into the room. 

“Bye.” Stiles echoes awkwardly behind him. 

Derek mentally debates where he’s going to sit. Someone’s already by Danny. There are lots of places scattered with the odd student here and there. He thinks about sitting next to Isaac, but the wolf glares when he approaches, so he takes the seat behind him. 

“What happened with the twins?” Derek says under his breath, barely audible. Isaac hears him just fine. 

“Nothing.” Isaac replies, equally quiet. “The trail went cold.”

“Same thing happened to me.” 

“I thought you bailed.” Isaac says. 

Derek bristles. “No. You and the twins disappeared. And then a dead body showed up.”

Isaac turns around, frowning. “Dead body?” He asks. 

“Alright, class has started.” Mr. Harris says, rising from his desk. “Everybody, shut up. Mr. Lahey, turn around. Let’s talk about chapter 4.”

Derek looks at Isaac as he turns around. His eyes catch sight of scratches, just barely concealed by Isaac’s sweater. They’re little indents, like claw marks, and Derek frowns, staring at Isaac’s neck in hopes of catching another glimpse. 

“McCall,” Mr. Harris says ten minutes into class, “If you can spare a moment not ogling Mr. Lahey, perhaps you’d like to tell us what it’s called when light bends as it enters a different medium?” 

Several titters come from the other students. Derek glares at Mr. Harris, and he thinks he should’ve paid more attention when Stiles said the guy was a jackass. 

“Refraction.” A voice whispers from the back of the room. It’s soft, so soft no human would be able to hear it. 

“Refraction.” Derek answers. 

Mr. Harris gives him a suspicious look. “Correct.” He says, somewhat reluctantly. 

Derek glances behind him. He’s pretty sure Danny was the one that told him the answer, but he can’t be sure. The teen’s writing in his notebook, so Derek writes it off as a fluke and looks back at the front of the room. 

_“Isaac.”_

Derek stiffens as the twins whisper from the hallway. He sees Isaac get even tenser and warning bells go off in his mind. 

“Don’t.” He says quietly. 

_“You gonna listen to him, Isaac?”_

_“Be a good little bitch?”_

“They’re just trying to rile you up.” Derek says. He sees Isaac’s jaw flex and then the beta’s out of his seat, storming out of the classroom. 

“Lahey!” Mr. Harris protests. 

Derek goes out after him, ignoring Harris’ yells. 

“Isaac!” Derek says. 

The twins smirk as they see them approach.

“Finally, some fun.” One of the twins says. 

“What the fuck do you want?” Isaac asks, glaring at them. He’s shaking, trying to hold himself back. 

“Ah, don’t be coy.” A twin says, stepping into Isaac’s space.

“Isaac, don’t let them get to you.” Derek protests. 

Isaac’s fist flies through the air, catching the twin right in the face. The alpha stumbles back, clutching his jaw. It seems like he’s in pain until he looks up and smirks. 

“You call that a punch?” He asks. 

“Should we show them how it’s done?” The brother says and they grin. 

Derek thinks they’re going to come after him and Isaac, but instead one of the twins starts punching the other in the face.

“What the…” Isaac mutters. Derek watches them in confusion. 

They’re both smirking and the guy getting beaten seems to get some perverse pleasure out of it. It’s quick and over before he or Isaac can do anything and then the twins are shouting, summoning Harris and the other students out of the classroom. 

“What the hell’s going on here?” Harris asks angrily. 

“I don’t know, they just attacked him.” Unbloody twin says, doing a convincing version of ‘Concerned Brother.’ 

Bloody twin is moaning like he’s in pain, curled up on the ground and looking pitiful. 

“No we didn’t.” Isaac says, but Mr. Harris doesn’t look like he believes him. 

Derek’s 100% sure they’re about get expelled when Mr. Harris opens his mouth. 

“Detention, both of you.” 

“Detention?” Derek repeats incredulously. “That’s it?”

“Yes, McCall, detention. And don’t try to get out of it.” Harris snaps. 

Derek’s definitely not going to try to get out of it. In fact he’s thrilled. And a little concerned, because this seems like the opposite of a ‘No Tolerance’ policy. 

They get sent to detention before he can send off a text to Stiles. Isaac doesn’t say anything and sits three seats ahead of Derek, fuming. Lunch-time rolls around and Allison strolls in, shooting them surprised looks before taking a seat on the other side of the room. 

They get split into pairs. Allison and Isaac go off to the supplies room to clean and Derek gets partnered with some sniveling weirdo called Greenberg, who walks a little too close when they go off to clean the gym. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Two alphas swam into the room. Scott tries to fight them on his own, tells Boyd and Cora to run, but the betas are pissed, out for blood as they go after the other werewolves. In Derek’s body, Scott’s control is limited, and he tries to fight without wolfing out. 

A bulky, male alpha is taking on Boyd and Cora solo and a lady alpha comes at Scott, the claws of her bare feet cutting into Derek’s torso. Scott gets a few of his own whacks in, and his fighting skills have come a long way, because he manages to deflect her alright. For about a minute. But Derek’s eyes are flashing between red and green and Scott’s beginning to feel more bloodlust than defensive. 

The presence of other alphas is putting him on edge, especially since they’ve invaded territory that isn’t theirs. Scott doesn’t really look at Derek’s loft as his territory, but he has more claim to it than the alpha pack does. 

Scott manages a near flip in Derek’s body as he evades the lady alpha’s feet. It would’ve been a full flip in his own, but he’s counting it as a win. Boyd and Cora are still off from the night before, and the bulky wolf is knocking them down pretty easily. The alphas have them at a severe disadvantage. 

Boyd falls to the ground and the smell of his blood hits the air, and Scott’s officially distracted. Lady alpha knocks him down and then something’s pushing through Derek’s back. It happens quickly, in a matter of seconds, but Scott feels every pinprick as Derek’s skin breaks and blood gushes forward. Derek’s back bone cracks and fractures, breaking into pieces as the intrusion continues, snapping Derek’s bottom rib and ripping through internal organs. Derek’s lung is pierced, deflating inside him as the skewer continues, bursting out of his abs and pushing down until it hits the floor. 

The pain’s indescribable. Scott’s never been in so much agony in his life, and he stares down at the floor in shock as red starts to flood out from under him. For a terrifying moment, the only thing in his head is _‘This is what dying feels like’_. Cora cries out behind him, but Scott can’t look back, can’t even move except to look down at Derek’s torso. He’s been stabbed with piping from god knows where. He hopes it’s not part of a gas line or else they’ll all be dead soon. Granted, that might be a blessing, since ‘impaled on a pipe’ is a slow and horrible way to go. 

Derek’s arms shake beneath him as Scott tries to hold himself up. He can feel Derek’s body trying to heal, struggling to right all the wounds before he bleeds out, but the lady alpha has the pipe in there securely and Scott knows she won’t be moving it until they get whatever they came for. 

_Tap tap tap_

Someone else enters the room. Scott’s having trouble breathing with one collapsed lung, but a faint inhale comes with the scent of werewolf. 

“Everybody done? 'Cause just listening to that was exhausting.” A smooth, English voice says. 

Scott glances up, eyes watering and body trembling as he looks at the newest intruder. He’s wearing sunglasses and making his way into the room with the aid of a walking stick.

“Sorry about this, Derek.” The man says, taking a seat in front of Scott. “I asked Kali to be gentle.” 

“This is me being gentle.” The lady alpha – Kali – says, giving the pipe a sadistic twist. Scott stifles a cry of pain, eyes clenching momentarily shut before opening again. 

He looks to the side, spotting Boyd and Cora trapped under the bulky wolf’s clawed hands. They’re both bleeding and staring at him with wide eyes. 

“What do you want?” Scott asks, voice strained and breathless. 

“Just a friendly chat, alpha to alpha.”

“You’re killing him.” Cora protests, struggling under her captor’s grip. 

“Not yet, little sister.” Kali says. “But I could.”

“Stop.” Scott gasps, blood falling from Derek’s lips. “Let – let them go.” 

English alpha sighs, waving his hand. “Ennis.”

Scott looks over as Ennis releases Boyd and Cora, who stagger back, watching helplessly. Cora takes a small step, like she’s going to attack, and Scott shakes his head. 

“No.” He says and Cora stops, staring at him with wide eyes. “What do you want?” He repeats, looking up at English alpha. He’s in pain and he thinks he might be dying and he’s also starting to get really pissed off. 

“So impatient.” The alpha tuts. “But you have potential. That’s what it’s all about for me – potential. Talent. All these alphas,” He says, gesturing at Kali and Ennis, “were handchosen. The best of the best.”

Scott’s vision is going hazy and black around the edges. He still manages to put some of the pieces together. “You want me?” He asks. 

“Your mother was an extraordinary alpha.” The guy says, rising and stepping forward. He kneels down right in front of Scott and rests his palm on Derek’s face. The warmth of his skin makes Scott realize how cold he’s gotten. He’s like ice. 

The alpha-alpha’s contact makes Scott feel dirty and uncomfortable. He wants to shift away, but he’s paralyzed by pain and Kali’s firm hold. Derek’s blood continues to stream out of him and Scott’s reasonably sure that he doesn’t have a lot of time left. 

“Kali was right. You look like Talia.” The guy says. “You'll get to know me, Derek. Like she did. And we’ll harness all that potential. Being as powerful as I am has its perks and I can introduce you to abilities you never dreamed possible. I can teach you, Derek.”

Scott frowns, confused. “Why?” He asks. 

The alpha sighs, looking displeased. “Talent, Derek. Potential.”

“See, I just don’t believe that.” Scott says. And it’s true, he doesn’t, and not just because Derek doesn’t seem like he’s that good of a werewolf, but they’re going through too much trouble if all they want is to recruit him. Not to mention that nothing they’ve done up until this point has been an attempt to get anyone on their side. 

“You’re stubborn.” The alpha says. “But you’ll see, in time.” He rises, walking back to the elevator. “Kali, Ennis.” He says. 

The pipe’s removed from Derek’s torso and Scott grunts, nearly collapsing as the beta-alphas retreat. Boyd and Cora rush over, huddling protectively around him to make sure he’s okay.  
The alphas disappear from view behind the elevator doors and Derek’s body starts to heal itself, skin growing shut. Scott looks up at Boyd and Cora, just barely keeping himself from passing out. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles shoots off a quick text to Derek’s phone to let Scott know that a dead body showed up at school and then comes across Lydia. He spends two minutes trying to convince her that people are being sacrificed in some druid ritual before she tells him to stuff it and leave the policing to his dad. 

He spends his break sitting in the bleachers by the Lacrosse field. There’s no one there and he’s alone with his thoughts. It’s not what he wants to do – he’d rather run home and get his backpack or do something to occupy himself – but he’s pretty sure the moment he leaves something bad’s going to happen. 

Scott doesn’t text him back and Stiles sighs, resting his elbows on his knees and staring down at the grass. Memories of Heather prickle at his mind, and he tries to block them out by not thinking about anything and then by thinking about everything under the sun. He thinks about lunch, then dinner, then video games, and music, and school, and his dad. His brain grips desperately at whatever it can reach, but it’s like trying to hold onto air. 

Stiles feels like he’s forgetting her face already. Her laugh’s faded and he can only faintly recall the feel of her hair brushing his cheek. When they’d kissed, her lips had tasted like strawberry lip gloss and something distinctly her, but Stiles can’t remember or describe it. The worst part is that they never even got the chance to talk. At least, not properly. 

Stiles likes to think they would have gotten around to it, after the sex. In his mind, they’d have gotten along, and their first time would have led to hand-holding and quiet, stolen kisses. It probably would have been awkward at first, and sloppy, but they’d have figured it out. They’d have been happy, Stiles thinks. However long it lasted, and that might’ve been a week or ten years or forever, they’d have been happy. 

Stiles isn’t sure if that was just a fantasy, like how he was with Lydia. He feels guilty about it, because Heather was more than whatever his mind comes up with. He didn’t know her, though, and that’s what makes his heart break. She’s childhood memories, a missed opportunity, and evidence. He thinks she deserves better. 

Stiles feels like he’s drowning. He’s been waist-deep in it for months, but things keep getting worse and worse and now he’s getting swept under. He’s hardly got the worst of it though. Still, he feels the knot in his chest grow every time he goes home. It’s always empty and when it isn’t, it might as well be. 

Stiles is jealous of Scott’s relationship with his mom. It sucked at first, her finding out, but now they’re on the same page. There are no more lies and Stiles would be dishonest if he said he doesn’t want that. He does want it. So badly, in fact, that he sometimes thinks about just spilling the beans and coming right out with it. 

_“Scott’s a werewolf!”_ He imagines himself saying. And then his dad either laughs right in his face or sends him to Eichen House for psychiatric treatment. 

By the time the bell rings for lunch, Stiles is in a somber state. It takes all his energy to get up from the bleachers and take himself to Harris’ room. He waits. Kids start filing out of the classroom. He waits some more. Derek never comes out. 

Stiles texts Scott’s phone, asking Derek where he is. No reply comes, the halls empty, and he starts to get nervous. He calls Scott’s phone. No answer. 

Stiles’ jaw clenches and he looks around. He’s tempted to just say ‘fuck Derek’ and leave, and in any other situation he would, but Scott comes to mind and he groans. Sometimes he’s too good of a best friend. Scott better appreciate him. 

Stiles ventures down empty corridors, looking for any sign of the werewolf. He almost says Derek’s name, but then thinks better. 

“Scott.” He hisses, keeping his eyes peeled. He’s turning into the next hallway when an impact from behind has him falling forward. He struggles as a firm grip drags him into an empty classroom. “What-” Stiles starts, breaking off when he’s slammed backward into a wall. Pain flares across his back and his lungs stop working. A hand grips at his throat, not quite choking him but coming uncomfortably close. He grabs at his captor’s wrist and looks forward, almost expecting it to be Derek pissed about lord knows what, but instead he finds himself face to face with one of the alpha twins. He can just barely see past him to find the other twin hovering close. 

“So you’re Scott’s right hand man?” The twin that’s holding him says, getting intimately close and sniffing curiously. “Human.” He says, and Stiles knows he could’ve smelled that from a distance. 

“And you’re in the alpha pack.” Stiles says, voice strained but plenty filled with attitude. “Glad we’re all on the same page.”

Sniffy smiles in amusement. “Cute.” He says, bringing Stiles forward and then slamming him back again. 

Stiles lets out painted grunts between heavy breaths. His mind whirs, trying to come up with a way out of this as flashbacks of Gerard and basement beatings dance through his brain. Only this would be much worse. 

“We have some questions.” Other twin says, smirking at Stiles. His fingers twitch, like he’s just itching to get in on the action. 

“I’m not telling you anything.” Stiles says, defiantly. 

Sniffy gets in closer, lips pulling back to show a predatory smile. “We’re not asking.” He says. 

Stiles is removed from the wall and thrown to the floor. He slams down hard, just barely keeping his face from hitting the linoleum. He tries to fight through the discomfort and crawl away, but he’s slow to start and a heavy weight comes down on his back before he can make much progress. Sharp pinpricks prod at his neck and he stills on instinct. 

There’s a disappointed tut from behind him. “Thought he’d put up more of a fight.” The wolf says. Sharp claws break through the skin at his nape and Stiles’ eyes squeeze shut. He’s not sure what they’re playing at, because if they’re trying to torture him into talking, he can think of much worse and more motivational places for claws to go, but then his head hurts and images start moving at a rabid place, memories playing over each other. 

Stiles is almost paralyzed as he sees Scott get bitten again and then the thing with Peter and Matt happens in rapid succession. The pieces slot together even through the agony, and he realizes that the alpha’s reading his memories. He vaguely remembers something about that cropping up when they were sticking Isaac in the bathtub, but he kind of thought (hoped) that would only work on werewolves. He thinks, not for the first time, that a better communication system is in order. 

Some part of his brain is still going, trying to strategize and form a useful plan of escape, because if this keeps going, he knows they’re going to find out a lot more than they need to know. Stuff like Stiles’ masturbation habits, which he sees crop up in the mix, or the fact that Derek and Scott have unfortunately swapped bodies. Of course, if the alphas are behind it, then they already know. 

Stiles feels like he’s going to pass out and he’s dizzy and nauseous as he pries his eyes open and looks ahead of him for inspiration. Lights and dark spots dance in front of his vision, making it hard to see, but he does find a pencil. A fucking pencil, which is all he seems to be able to find for a weapon. It’s about three inches away and is covered in figures of Hello Kitty.

One of the weights disappears from Stiles’ back and he can hear vague chatter in the background. He thinks someone might be coming or something’s happened to distract them, because he manages to reach forward with shaking fingers and grab the writing utensil. With as much strength as he can muster, he swings his arm back and there’s an angry growl from behind him as the makeshift weapon makes contact. 

Stiles rolls over, away from the claws, and a twin’s standing there, the pencil stuck in his eye socket. Stiles’ stomach roils and he crawls backward as the other twin comes away from the door and steps close to his brother. They stand in front of him, side-by-side, and he thinks they’re both going to attack at once, but instead, they take their shirts off. One bends forward and the other sticks his fist inside his twin’s back and Stiles is pretty sure shit’s about to get really fucking weird. 

“Oh my god.” Stiles says, rising to his feet. He’s trembling and off balance, but the sight of the twins merging together gives him enough adrenaline to run for the door. A soundtrack of squelching organs and cracking bones plays behind him as he bursts through the exit. He takes off down the hallway, glancing behind him when thundering footsteps follow. The twins have pushed out of the classroom in the form of some sort of Frankenwolf. It’s huge and rippling as it lumbers after him and Stiles looks ahead, spotting the fire alarm and running even harder. He gets to the end of the corridor and pulls on the handle, setting the alarm off before the twins can get to him. Frankenwolf halts, giving Stiles a predatory glare before turning and disappearing into another empty room. 

Stiles pants, watching as kids start swarming out into the hallways. He tries not to stand out, ducking his head and quickly making his way to the boy’s bathroom. A red drop falls from his face, landing on his shoe, and Stiles reaches his arm up, pressing his sleeve to his bleeding nose to stifle the flow. All in all, Stiles isn’t having his best day. 

Stiles stumbles into the bathroom, knees knocking together and hands trembling. He makes sure no one else is in there and locks the door behind him. He walks over to the sink, peering into the mirror to see that he actually looks surprisingly okay – a little pale, a little shaken, but okay. He gets toilet paper for his nosebleed and then starts doing a more thorough examination. His neck’s bleeding, and he can just glimpse the claw marks if he turns the right way. Once he gets them bandaged, which he’ll need help with, he can cover it with a high collared shirt. 

Nothing else is bleeding and nothing’s broken. His head’s a little tender, but he’s had worse, and his ribs are bruised, but that’ll heal. Stiles wipes his nose, which has stopped bleeding, and rinses his face with cold water. 

He rubs a hand over tired eyes and pulls out his cell phone. He really hopes Scott picks up.

“Hello?” Derek’s voice comes over the line, tired and a little strained. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks, on edge. 

“Yeah, I got a visit from the leader of the alphas.”

Stiles stiffens, neck throbbing. “Whoa. What happened? Are you okay? What was he like?” Stiles’ head is pounding and he needs to balance himself against the sink. 

“He was intense. I’ll fill you in later. I got your text. A dead body showed up? At school?”

“Yeah.” Stiles breathes, body weakening. “That’s not why I called. Um, the alpha twins. They’re here. They tried to, like, read my mind.”

“What about-”

“Jamie Lee Curtis?” Stiles interrupts, snorting. “Missing.”

“Are you okay?” Scott asks.

“Fine, I think. I mean, my head hurts and I think I might vomit. And there’s this weird sort of tapping.” Stiles says. It only just started, but it echoes in his ears, faint and loud at the same time. 

_Tap tap tap_

“I can hear it too.” Derek’s voice is quiet when Scott says it. There’s a breath and then “Stiles, you need to get out of there.”

“What?”

_Tap tap tap_

“That’s him. That’s the alpha.” 

Stiles’ heart lurches. The taps are coming from the hallway, every other beat as someone makes their way closer to the bathroom. “Are you sure?” Stiles asks.

“He’s blind. He walks with a cane.” 

Stiles overlooks the fact that there are a lot of blind people who also use canes and goes right into the weird bit. “A blind werewolf?” Stiles mutters. “Dude, that makes no sense. I thought you guys could heal.”

“Stiles, just get out of there.” Scott barks and in that split second Derek’s voice actually sounds like Derek again.

“I can’t, I’m in the restroom.” 

There’s a pause and then Scott speaks again. “You called me from the toilet?” He asks, the undertone of ‘ew’ very clear. 

“No.” Stiles protests. “I locked myself in here after I pulled the fire alarm. And don’t ask why I pulled the alarm.” 

The tapping’s getting steadily closer. 

“Can you climb out the window?” Scott asks. 

Stiles doesn’t even get into why that’s a terrible plan. He’s two storeys up, there’s no ledge, and oh yeah, no windows. 

The tapping stops right outside the bathroom and Stiles looks at the door, afraid to breathe. For a moment there’s nothing, but then great screeches comes from the other side, horrible scraping sounds against the metal of the entrance. Stiles’ heart pounds in his chest and he hobbles backward, clutching at the neighboring sink as a wave of nausea hits him. 

_“Stiles? Stiles!”_ Derek’s voice comes out of the phone as Scott calls out in concern and Stiles tries to muffle the noise in his shirt.

A muffled voice sounds over the scraping and Stiles can’t make out what the man says, but his tone is commanding, powerful. The scratching stops. 

Stiles stares at the entrance, eyes wide and jaw clenched. He’s readying himself for a fight, preparing for the werewolves to bust through the door at any moment. 

“Goodbye, Stiles.” The mysterious man says. “Tell Derek I enjoyed our little chat.”

The tapping starts again, moving down the corridor, and Stiles lets out a shuddering breath, hand trembling as he waits for the noise to fade. With shaking fingers, he lifts the phone up to his ear, where Scott’s panicking.

“Hey.” He says. 

“Stiles, what the hell? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m alright.”

“I’ll be there in two minutes.” Scott says. The line goes dead before Stiles can reply. 

“I’ll be right here, I guess.” Stiles mutters to no one. On shaking legs he makes his way into a stall, where he promptly starts throwing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: I said chapter 6 would be up Tuesday. It will now be up Friday instead. I got very sick and life got very busy.


	6. 6A Bite Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late. A series of obstacles conspired against me (Including my computer charger getting destroyed.)
> 
> Cover art was done by the lovely [blackbirdrose](http://blackbirdrose.deviantart.com/)

**Chapter 6A: Bite Club**

Greenberg loves the gym. Derek’s not sure why, because he seems like the kind of guy that’s usually the target for dodgeball, but Greenberg goes on and on about how gym’s his favorite class and he loves the room and Coach is going to be so proud when he sees how well they cleaned it and hey, is Scott excited for Lacrosse season to start again, because Greenberg is and he’s been practicing. Greenberg thinks he’s improved a lot and Finstock isn’t going to know what hit him.

In about five minutes, Greenberg is going to know what hit him, because it will be Derek. He’s sure even Scott would be okay with that. He hopes he would, because that line of thought is drifting steadily away from the realm of fantasy and is very quickly becoming a definitive plan of action as far as Derek’s concerned.

“Greenberg, shut up.” Derek grits out for what seems like the millionth time. Christ, even Stiles knows when to draw the line. In fact, Derek’s starting to miss him. That’s how horrible Greenberg is.

They confiscated Scott’s cell phone when he got into detention, so he hasn’t been able to tell Stiles anything. He hopes someone got word to him, because he doesn’t need to get yelled at.

Derek blinks, realizing he’s starting to think like a teenager, worrying over upsetting people and getting told off. It’s already stupid, because he has car insurance and pays taxes, but it’s additionally stupid when he realizes that Stiles is 17. Derek’s worried about getting lectured by a _seventeen-year-old_. And it’s not like Stiles is even that overbearing. Derek’s self-aware enough to know that Stiles is being fairly patient, all things considered, but tensions are rising between them, and it’s only a matter of time before the arguing starts.

Derek can handle a physical fight, he even likes a physical fight, but he can’t go toe-to-toe with Stiles, because he’d kill him and that’s kind of a no-no. They’d have to stick with words and Derek’s not good with that; he doesn’t like oral arguments. Anger between people is more vulnerable than the type of rage that keeps Derek going, and quarrels involve more emotional honesty than he can deal with. Plus, Stiles is the type of person who makes up for physical limitations with verbal strikes that land right where it hurts most.

Greenberg’s still prattling on, and Derek grips his broom handle tightly, almost breaking it. He’s stopped mentally playing ‘How Many Ways Can I Kill Greenberg’ and is more realistically wondering how hard he can hit the kid _without_ killing him. If he does it just right, he can knock the guy out, but it’s a delicate balance – too hard and he’ll cause brain damage, too light and the guy will have time to process the situation and realize that his detention partner’s just assaulted him. Which probably wouldn’t work out too well for Scott in the end, so it’s best to get the kid by surprise, that way he can’t point fingers and Derek can just claim he passed out. Or fell and hit his head. Which he will, once Derek whacks him, so it’s not technically a lie.

Derek looks at the back of Greenberg’s head, thinking.

“How much do you weigh?” He asks suddenly, cutting Greenberg off in the middle of a long spiel about Finstock.

“What?” Greenberg asks, brow crinkling in confusion.

“Just trying to get to know you.” Derek says, shooting him a smile with a little too much tooth in it. Stiles would recognize it as the ‘I’m about to murder you’ smile.

“Oh.” Greenberg smiles. “130 pounds. What about you?”

“200.” Derek mutters, thinking. 130 pounds…a fairly mild whack should be enough to take him down. 

“200?!” Greenberg exclaims, gaping. “No way? What are you, like all muscle?” Greenberg comes forward and lifts a hand to prod at Scott’s bicep.

Derek’s extending Scott’s hand, using it to twist Greenberg’s wrist before he can think better of it. The kid ends up on the ground, kneeling in front of him and gasping in pain.

“What the hell, dude?” Greenberg cries.

“Reflex.” Derek mutters, letting the guy go. Derek frowns, staring down at Scott’s hand. He almost felt like himself for a moment there, like they hadn’t switched at all.

“God, McCall, what is wrong with you?” Greenberg says, shaking his wrist out. “People kept saying you were getting weird, but I didn’t believe them. ‘Not Scott’ I said.”

Greenberg keeps going, talking about teammates and loyalty, but Derek’s not listening. There’s some sort of raucous on the other side of school. It’s faint and distant, but if he focuses enough, he can make it out.

“‘He’s our captain!’ I said-” Greenberg continues and Derek huffs, dropping his broom and stepping over to the kid. He presses a finger to Greenberg’s lips and gives him a pointed look.

“Be quiet.” He hisses, trying to focus on the noise. It’s closer than he thought it was, just a few hallways down, and he thinks someone’s trapped in a room.

“Are you gonna kiss me?” Greenberg whispers behind Scott’s finger. “Because I always thought there was this sort of tension between us-”

Derek looks up at Greenberg like he’s lost his damned mind. “No, I’m not gonna…” Derek shakes his head and pulls Scott’s hand away. He shoots Greenberg an incredulous look then turns, racing towards the exit.

 _“ISAAC!”_ he hears Allison shout.

“Did I ruin the moment?” Greenberg shouts after him. “Finstock says I can do that!”

Derek pushes out of the door. He’s mostly running to Isaac and Allison, terror on high as he wonders what sort of trouble they’re in, but a small part of him is just desperate to get away from Greenberg.

“Wait, we still have to clean the gym!” The kid protests. 

Derek dashes through corridor after corridor, the seconds ticking away as there’s a slam and a shout. Classrooms pass in a blur, and then he’s at a part of the school that doesn’t seem to see much activity. The hallway’s dank and dark and it doesn’t have the same smell of teenagers and hormones that other parts of the school do. It smells mostly like cleaning supplies and fear. There’s the scent of blood too – not much, but enough to cause concern.

Derek sees a vending machine pushed up against one of the doors and he flies forward, pulling the machine away and opening the entrance. Isaac has Allison backed against one of the supply shelves and he’s wolfed out, angry and growling as he loses control. He’s already injured her, and Derek sees gold, yanking Isaac roughly off her and slamming her to the floor.

He screams Isaac’s name, loud and commanding as he pins the beta. He wishes he could just growl Isaac into submission, but he has to hope some part of the blond teen trusts Scott enough to listen.

Much to his surprise, Isaac stills beneath him almost instantly, looking up with bewildered, horrified blue eyes.

“Scott?” He says. He looks over Scott’s shoulder and Derek turns, watching Allison come out of the supply room. She’s looking shaken, but mostly composed. Her arms have scratches on them.

Derek turns, glaring back at Isaac.

“I’m so sorry.” Isaac says, staring at Allison.

“I’m fine.” Allison reassures him. “Scott, you can let him go.”

“What happened?” Derek asks, not releasing Isaac.

“I don’t know. Someone blocked the door – the twins, I think. And I couldn’t get out and I just…I freaked.” Isaac babbles. His hands are trembling.

Derek nods. Claustrophobia. The twins are gathering information, using it against them.

“Show me your neck.” Derek says, letting Isaac go.

“What?” Isaac asks.

“Your neck.”

Isaac sits up, bending his head forward so Derek can see.

“I don’t understand…” Isaac trails off, stiffening.

Derek pulls Isaac’s sweater down and stares at the marks. They’re mostly healed, but they’re evidence enough for Derek.

Allison comes up beside him, studying the wounds.

“You don’t think…did they…?” Isaac stutters out broken questions.

Allison reaches into her shoe and fishes out her cell phone. “So they can’t confiscate it.” She explains. 

Derek reluctantly respects her in that moment, watching as she takes a picture and shows Isaac. The beta stares at the photo, jaw clenching in a mix of anger and fear.

“When…?” Isaac starts, looking up at Derek and Allison. “I don’t remember them doing that.”

Derek looks back at the supplies closet and then at the vending machine. He thinks they have a very big problem.

The fire alarm goes off, cancelling out any further conversation and making them all jump.

Derek and Allison help Isaac up and then Derek follows them all outside. Crowds of classes are all gathering, and none of them are really sure where to go. They lump together on the edge of the grounds, waiting awkwardly. Derek hates fire drills. It’s the type of trivial chaos he definitely doesn’t miss and never wanted to relive.

“Were you in lunch or class?” A firm voice asks. A woman comes over and stares at them over her glasses frames, her mouth pressed into a stern purse. He thinks she must be part of the administrative staff.

“We were in detention.” Allison explains.

The woman nods. “Ms. Blake!” She calls. “Can you take these three?”

Derek looks over to see a woman about his age and very attractive. His stomach gives an uncomfortable sort of flutter, the type of sudden, nervous thrill he hasn’t felt in years. Her hair is brown and soft, with little, bouncy waves, and her eyes are light and shimmering, and her skin is like porcelain. Her lips are thin and they pull into a lovely smile as she directs them to join the back of her line. She’s wearing heels and a skirt and a nice, soft green button-up. When he passes her, she smells like books and apples.

As they stand at the back of the line, Isaac and Allison start conversing quietly. He tries to pay attention, but he keeps finding his eyes straying to the front, where Ms. Blake is standing. There’s nothing wrong with finding someone attractive, he reassures himself. And she’s beautiful, which is great. That’s a good thing.

But Derek’s stuck in a Scott’s body, and the rush of hormones is making a minor attraction feel like an emotional roller coaster. He’s having trouble coping with the nervous ups and downs, and the way Scott’s body wants to turn this into a thing. A really inappropriate thing, because Scott Jr. seems to want in on it and Derek’s trying really hard not to get an erection right now.

Isaac shoots him a curious look and Derek clenches Scott’s hands at his side, cooling his hormones by first thinking of Kate and then, when that gets too sad, Peter in a bikini.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Scott hangs up quickly, shoving the phone back in his jeans. He grabs a red, v-neck Henley from Derek’s wardrobe and pulls it on, cringing when his stomach pulls tight.

“You’re going out?” Cora’s voice comes from Derek’s doorway.

Scott looks up. “Yeah, there was a situation at the school.” He says, pulling Derek’s shirt the rest of the way on. He knows they’re supposed to be brother and sister and he knows it’s Derek’s body she’s seeing, not Scott’s, but he still feels weird being undressed around her.

“You should stay and heal. Let someone else deal with it.” Cora tells him. She steps into the room, coming closer. She stops at some invisible border, afraid to close the full distance between them. 

“Someone got hurt. He’s, uh…Stiles, he’s a good guy.” Scott explains. The name feels thick in his throat and his heart constricts.

It’s confusing talking about Stiles like this. He’s is his best friend and Scott loves him. A lot. Too much, on occasion. But Derek doesn’t even like the guy, so Scott’s walking a fine line here.

Trying to keep up appearances is especially difficult when he feels this overwhelming need to see his friend. Part of it is just to make sure Stiles is okay, but another part of it is that he feels like he can’t breathe. Everything’s spiraled completely out of control in the too many hours they’ve been apart, and Scott needs something to help him feel grounded. Stiles has this odd way of doing that.

“Derek, you could have died.” Cora says, and she sounds angry but he can see the panic in her eyes.

“I know, Cora, I…” Scott stops, not sure what to say.

Cora looks at him for a moment then lets out a breath and stalks forward. Her arms come around his waist and she squeezes him in a hug. She’s somehow strong and careful, managing not to aggravate his wound too much, and Scott stands there frozen, eyes wide as she embraces him. His hands lift, careful and tentative, and he hugs her back.

It’s not his hug. It’s not meant for him. He’s stealing this moment from Derek, but Cora needs the reassurance and Scott would be lying if he said he couldn’t use a hug right now.

“Right, go. Be the hero.” Cora says, stepping away from him. “I’ll stay with Boyd.”

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Lydia finds Derek, Allison, and Isaac, hurrying toward them purposefully. 

“Lydia.” Allison says, greeting her friend. 

“Something’s wrong.” Lydia says. 

Derek stiffens.

_Banshee._

He’s known about Lydia for a while now. Her aura had always been just a little bit different, but ever since Peter, it’s started to change. And when she’d found the body the night before, any doubt he might’ve had disappeared. 

“What do you mean?” Allison asks. 

“Just trust me.” Lydia says, looking uncomfortable. “We need to get into the school.”

Allison looks around, frowning. “How?” She asks. They can’t sneak away easily. 

“I’ve arranged for a distraction.” Lydia says, checking her watch. “I paid a sophomore to faint in 3...2...1.”

There’s a ruckus over at the next line and people start rushing over. 

It’s not the most ingenious plan, but Derek likes it. They follow Lydia into the school and Derek thinks he might have to keep an eye on her. And, more importantly, Peter. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Scott tucks Derek's phone into his jeans and steps into the living room. Boyd and Cora watch him, half wary and half scared but trying to hide it behind stoic expressions. Scott doesn't comment or try to comfort them. It's not something Derek would do and truth be told, he's feeling just as rattled as they are. 

When Kali had driven the pipe in, Scott had felt every moment of it, and he's reeling with the realization that he can't look lightly at the situation. He _is_ Derek and he needs to play the role solidly, because he's starting to think he's in some real danger here. They all are, but Boyd and Cora are looking at him with these eyes that say "fix it" and Scott thinks he's going to have a panic attack. He's their alpha, their pack leader, but he's not. Not really. He can't be Derek, can't handle the responsibility, but he has to for all of their sakes.

"I'll be back later." He says, tucking his hands in the pockets of Derek's leather jacket. He’s going for casual, trying to hide his anxiety under stoicism. He’s not sure if it’s working but hopes the betas are just nervous enough that they don’t notice. 

He takes the elevator down to the lobby. It goes quickly, a matter of seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Scott’s steps are slow at first, steady, but they quickly go faster, turning into a run when he’s outside. He thinks about Stiles, injured and waiting. 

He’s almost out of the alley and onto the street when Derek’s phone rings. He stops, breaths quicker than usual, but not from exertion, from panic. He needs to calm down. He pulls out Derek’s cell, frowning at the caller ID. 

_Phone company._

He presses ignore and continues his journey. When he gets to the school, everyone’s outside and the fire department’s shown up. He has to be careful, so he sneaks in through the back, scaling the walls and climbing up onto the balcony. He pushes in through a window to the one of the classrooms and listens for anyone in the corridors. 

Firemen pass outside, inspecting the area, and he ducks down, waiting with bated breath. When the coast is clear, he slips out of the room and hurries down the hallway, keeping his ears peeled for any sign of Stiles. 

It’s the faint smell of blood that tells him he’s in the right direction. When he looks closely, he can see little drops on the floor. It’s stronger to his right, down the hallway to the Physics room, but he doesn’t go in the direction. Instead, he follows the smell to the boy’s bathroom, where it mixes with vomit and old spice and Stiles. He doesn’t go in immediately. Instead, he pauses outside the door, looking at the swirl carved into the metal. 

Anger and panic flash through him and he has to take a deep breath, bringing the wolf back under control before he transforms. He pushes the entrance open, bringing the lock and hurrying over to the stall where Stiles’ is. 

His friend’s hunched over the toilet, heaving and looking horribly pale. Scott’s eyes go to his neck, where he can see claw marks. 

Stiles’ head swings around, brown eyes wide. His heartbeat spikes until he sees it’s Scott, and then he relaxes. 

“Scott?” He gets out, voice hoarse. 

“Hey, Stiles.” Scott says, voice soft. He kneels down by his friend, placing a hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades and rubbing soft circles. His mom always does that for him when he gets sick. God, his mom. A pang of guilt and longing goes through him. He could use her help right now. 

“You look like shit.” Stiles observes. 

Scott raises Derek’s eyebrows. “Pot, kettle, dude.” He says. 

As if on cue, Stiles starts retching again, and a hand flies out, twisting into Derek’s shirt. He clings to Scott while he pukes, which should be really gross, but is actually a little nice. He’d rather have Stiles not be sick, of course, but having his friend clutching onto him for support like this makes him feel warm and protective. 

Scott wraps Derek’s free hand around the one Stiles has in his shirt, and continues running his palm along Stiles’ back. He’s worried. He doesn’t think Stiles’ should be this sick right now and he should probably get him to a hospital. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

By the time Scott gets there, Stiles is mostly just dry heaving. He’s starting to feel a little bit better, even if he doesn’t look that good, so when Scott suggests taking him to the hospital, he says no. He should probably go - it would be the smart thing to do. But he doesn’t want his dad finding out and he’s pretty sure it’s not that bad. 

“We should get you out of here.” Scott says. “The fire department’s here.”

Stiles nods. Scott moves to help him up and Stiles pauses, eyes lingering on where their hands are linked. It’s the sight of Derek’s hand on top of his that makes it surreal, but the idea of holding hands with Scott seems somehow natural to him. Stiles buries that thought, clearing his throat and looking away as he stands up. 

Stiles insists on washing his mouth out at the sink. He washes his face too, because he can’t help thinking about how many asses have probably been on that toilet in that day alone. 

They step out into the hallway and Stiles stares at the claw marks on the door. 

“What do you think it means?” He asks Scott quietly. It’s just a swirl. It’s so basic and harmless that Stiles kind of hopes that it doesn’t mean anything at all, but he doubts he’s that lucky. He looks over at Scott, watching the frown that works it’s way across Derek’s face. 

“I don’t know.” Scott admits. 

Footsteps come down the hall and they stiffen, looking over. 

“Stiles!” Allison says. She’s running over with Lydia, Isaac, and ‘Scott.’

Stiles’ eyes narrow and he opens his mouth, ready to ask Derek where the hell he’s been, but he stops himself. He’s not sure if he’s imagining the slightly sheepish expression Derek gives him, but it calms him down either way. 

“Derek?” Isaac asks, looking at Scott curiously. 

“I called him.” Stiles says. “When I couldn’t get a hold of _Scott._ ” He adds pointedly. Everyone looks over at ‘Scott’, except for the real Scott, who just gives Stiles a “come on, dude, really?” face. It’s softer than the one he usually sees on Derek, but still undoubtedly familiar. He shrugs apologetically. 

Derek huffs, flaring Scott’s nostrils and glaring. “I was in detention.” He says. 

“Detention?!” Stiles and Scott say in unison. It’s a brief slip on Scott’s part, that has Allison, Lydia, and especially Isaac looking at him funny. Scott opens Derek’s mouth again and Stiles elbows him gently. The werewolf pulls himself together, closing Derek’s mouth but still staring at Derek in disappointment. 

“The alpha twins.” Isaac says by way of explanation. 

“Ethan and Aiden.” Scott says. 

Stiles looks at him curiously. “How’d you know that?” He asks. He’s still leaning against his friend, so his face isn’t that far from Derek’s. Ordinarily it would be odd, but knowing it’s Scott makes it more comfortable. 

“I heard their names when we were on the phone.” Scott explains. 

Stiles frowns. “I don’t remember that.”

“You probably couldn’t hear it over the scraping.” Scott points out. 

“Oh, right.” Stiles says. They’re really close. He can feel the air heating under Scott’s breath and they just kind of stare at each other. Derek’s skin is abnormally pale, he observes. It tints more the longer he gazes at Scott, his cheeks going slightly pink, but he thinks that’s more exertion than health. He looks a bit clammy too. 

“Since no one else is going to say it,” Lydia says, drawing their attention, “This?” She gestures at Stiles and ‘Derek’, “Weird.” 

They shift uncomfortably. 

“What are you even doing here?” Stiles asks, defensive. 

“Helping.” Lydia shrugs. “You’re welcome.” 

“She sort of knew you were in trouble.” Isaac explains. 

“Yeah, that was a little weird.” Allison says, leaning towards Lydia and giving her an inquiring look. 

“I had a feeling.” Lydia says like it’s not a big deal. 

“Guys, can we move this along?” Derek says, bringing them all back to the situation as nicely as he can. 

“What’s that?” Lydia asks, gesturing behind them to the mark on the bathroom entrance. 

Scott and Stiles step out of the way, and Stiles stands a little straighter, supporting most of his weight now. He’s starting to realize that Scott’s the one leaning on him more than the other way around, but he doesn’t think the werewolf knows it yet. He tries not to be too obvious as he takes on Derek’s weight, knowing that if Scott realizes what’s going on, he’ll feel bad and pull away. Part of it is because Scott’s nice, but it’s something else too. Ever since he became a werewolf, Scott treats Stiles differently, like he thinks Stiles is weak. Which, compared to a werewolf is probably true, but Stiles can hold his own. And he can certainly hold Scott, who appears to be way sicker than he’s letting on. Whatever the alphas did to him wasn’t good. 

Everyone’s expecting the swirl now and Stiles glances over at Derek, watching Scott’s throat bob as he swallows thickly. 

“Stiles.” Derek says, tense. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Stiles protests. “Oh god, why? What does it mean?” He asks, not liking Derek’s tone. 

“It’s a werewolf sigil.” Derek explains. “It means ‘Revenge.’” 

“How’d you know that?” Allison asks, looking suspicious. Stiles files that away as something to be worried about later, because he’s currently freaking out. 

“Deaton’s been teaching me some stuff.” Derek says, shrugging Scott’s shoulders. 

“What do you mean ‘revenge’?” Stiles asks. “Revenge for what? They’re the ones that came after me.” 

The werewolves tense collectively, except Scott, who seems pretty out of it. “We should go.” Derek says. 

They all nod and start making their way quickly down the hallway. Stiles isn’t keeping up the pretense of leaning against Scott anymore and his openly supporting him now. Scott makes to pull away and Stiles holds tight. 

“Dude, you really don’t look good.” He says. 

“I’m fine.” Scott mutters. They’re behind the rest of the group and Stiles clenches his teeth, wrapping both of his arms around Derek’s waist and pulling Scott along. Scott bites Derek’s teeth together in pain and lets out a muffled cry. 

Up ahead, Derek falters, looking back at them and frowning. 

“You’re not fine.” Stiles says. 

“I’m fine!” Scott barks. “Let’s just go.”

Stiles keeps carrying him, watching with wide eyes as Scott sways. He’s pushing forward, as best as he can, but Stiles isn’t sure how long he can make it for. He’d already looked bad when he arrived and now he’s just getting worse. 

It all goes to shit when they get to the stairs. Derek’s trying to help, but Scott gets angry when too many people fuss over him, so Derek can’t actually hold him. Stiles is left to support him solo, and even then, Scott keeps trying to pull away. He seems sensitive around his waist, so Stiles his holding his ribs as he tries to get him down the steps. They’re almost at the bottom when Scott pitches forward, weight dragging Stiles as he falls. 

“Shit.” Stiles says, using all his strength to keep Scott from landing headfirst down the stairs. He manages to get the werewolf to move backward toward the wall, so he ends up sitting on the step with his back to the plaster. Stiles has to awkwardly straddle him to do it, but he manages to just kneel over the werewolf rather than sit fully on his lap. 

Scott’s clutching at his elbow, grip deceptively strong. 

“Scott.” He says, slipping up in his panic. “Derek.” He corrects. He hopes nobody notices the slip. Derek steps close behind him. “I think it’s his stomach.” Stiles says. He uses his free hand, lifting up the hem of Derek’s shirt. 

Blood’s smeared all over his abs. There’s a mostly healed wound, just the thinnest sliver of a mark near his belly button. It’s oozing blood though, and Stiles has a feeling it’s a lot worse than it looks. 

“Scott.” He says again, looking up at his friend. “Dude, hey. Look at me.”

Scott’s breathing is shallow. He’s clenched Derek’s eyes shut and sweat is smeared across his pale skin. 

“Something’s really wrong.” Stiles mutters. He’s away of the others standing at the foot of the stairs, watching them with concern. 

Derek’s eyes pull open. They’re hazy and red. 

“Dude. Can you hear me?” Stiles asks. 

Scott doesn’t reply. Stiles feels a tug on his arm and he’s pulled forward. He thinks Scott’s going in for a hug at first, but then there’s a growl and teeth tear into he muscle between his neck and his shoulder. Derek’s the first one to spring into action. Everyone’s frozen by shock as Derek pulls Stiles away and then there’s a scurry, with the other teens rushing forward. Stiles cries out as he’s torn from Scott’s grip. The werewolf’s teeth cut through the skin, leaving bloody scrapes behind, and Stiles is thrown back, falling against the stairs behind him. He clutches out at the wound, cringing and kicking himself backward until he’s leaning against the railing. 

“What the fuck?” Stiles curses. He pulls his hand away, staring at the blood all over it before replacing it back on his injury. His face pinches in pain and he’s breathing heavy. Scott’s growling as the werewolves try to get him under control. He’s putting up a good fight, considering the state he’s in, but he’s just too weak. Allison’s standing back, because Scott’s fight strategy seems to be mostly biting, which doesn’t have much of an affect on Derek or Isaac, since he can’t change them. 

Stiles is panicking. He can’t be a werewolf. He just can’t. 

God, today’s been a really shitty day. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

They manage to get out to the parking lot. Derek has to knock Scott out and they lose Lydia along the way when a teacher almost catches them and she plays decoy. Allison’s supporting Stiles, who’s panting and glaring over in Scott’s direction. He looks like he might just kill everyone and Derek really hopes he doesn’t turn into a werewolf. 

There’s a delay in their escape plan when they pause in the parking lot, trying to figure out who’s going with who in what car. They wind up with Derek transporting Scott in Stiles’ jeep while Allison and Isaac take Stiles to Deaton in Allison’s car. 

Stiles is put in the passenger seat of Allison’s car and Derek leaves Scott with Isaac and goes over to get Stiles’ keys. Allison digs her arrow out of the back and stands guard with Isaac, just in case. Derek thinks they’re giving him and Stiles a private moment. He’s digging through Stiles’ pocket when the teen leans forward. 

“If I turn into a werewolf, I’m going to make your life a living hell.” Stiles hisses. 

“Too late.” Derek says, grabbing Stiles’ keys. 

“I hate you.” Stiles groans. Derek sees Isaac watching them with a look on his face like he’s trying to puzzle something out. “Don’t wreck my car.” Stiles warns as Derek pulls away. 

Derek snorts. “Would you notice?” He asks, because that thing’s been through enough already. 

“Fuck you.” Stiles bites out. He muffles an angry scream and writhes in frustration, clutching at his wound. 

Derek stares at him with concern. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he doesn’t actually hate Stiles. He’s not even sure if he truly dislikes him, he just thinks the teen’s annoying. And fun to mess with. He doesn’t linger to see if Stiles is alright, but hurries away from the car, telling Allison and Isaac to go fast. 

He takes Scott and shoves him into the jeep so he can drive him back to the loft. He’s pretty sure Scott will be under control once he’s healed properly. Until then, he needs to be contained. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

It _burns_. A lot. And Stiles doesn’t know if it’s because it’s a bad injury or if it’s a werewolf thing, but he’s bleeding all over and it hurts like nothing he’s ever felt before and he was already pretty banged up from the alphas, so rather than feel sad he just feels really, really pissed off. 

The more the wound aches, the more enraged the noises he makes are. Isaac says something about a seatbelt and Stiles just screams because at this point he doesn’t care if they crash the fucking car, because he is literally having the WORST DAY. 

Isaac leans forward from his place in the backseat and tries to soothe the injured teen. “Hey, Stiles, it’s okay. It’s not that bad.” He says, because Stiles smells mad and he keeps making these terrifying sounds and it’s really starting to freak Isaac out. He’s never seen Stiles like this. 

“Isaac, I appreciate the effort.” Stiles pants. “But. Shut. Up.”

Isaac listens, because he’s not sure what else to do. He glances over at Allison, who’s wide-eyed and equally stunned.

Isaac didn’t consider getting bitten that big a deal when it happened to him, but seeing someone get bit, particularly against their will, turns out to be really, really horrifying. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the look on Stiles’ face - the surprise and fear as Derek’s fangs sank into him. Then the look of betrayal afterwards. That’s the one that really got Isaac. Stiles had stared at Derek with this expression like the alpha had just shattered all the trust between them, which Isaac is starting to think was a lot more than any of them realized. 

Stiles has calmed down a little bit by the time they get to Deaton’s. At the very least, he’s stopped screaming and is sitting there with his eyes shut and his head bent back against the headrest. Isaac, afraid to touch him, exchanges a hesitant look with Allison before he opens the passenger side door. 

Stiles grunts when Isaac helps him out of the car and guides him to the back of Deaton’s clinic. They go in, passing the kennels and knocking on the rear door to the examination room. Deaton excuses himself from the dog he’s examining and steps out into the hallway, eyeing them curiously. His face falls when he sees Stiles. 

“Put him in my office.” Deaton orders, quickly hurrying back into the other room to finish the appointment. 

Stiles is seated in a chair across from Deaton’s desk, and he slumps, staring at the wall with an unfocused, distant expression. 

Allison watches him with a deep-set frown. They stay there in silence for a few minutes before Allison speaks up. “I’m going to have to tell my dad.” She says quietly. 

Stiles looks up sharply. 

Isaac’s more surprised than he should be. “What do you think he’s gonna do?” He asks. 

Allison doesn’t answer his question, but she doesn’t really have to. 

“You can’t.” Stiles says. He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to say anything at all. He wants to disengage from the situation entirely, and then he won’t have to think about what all the consequences of this are going to be, because however this situation goes down thing’s are going to suck. And honestly, he’s just so unbelievably _angry_ that it’s taking everything in him to leap to Scott’s defense. 

But he has to, because on some level he knows it’s not really Scott’s fault. At least, he hopes it’s not really Scott’s fault. The werewolf was so out of it there’s no way he knew what he was doing. 

“He bit someone without their consent. He bit _you_ without your consent. I can’t just let that slide.” Allison says. 

Isaac has to take in a deep breath before he says what he does. “She’s right.” They both look at him in surprise. 

“Isaac?” Stiles mutters, confused by the werewolf’s support. 

“Stiles, you could die.” Isaac says. 

Stiles swallows thickly. The temperature in the room drops about twenty degrees and Stiles just stares up ahead at nothing, absolutely terrified. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Derek parks the jeep outside of his loft and pulls Scott out from the back. The werewolf’s awake again, but he’s not really doing anything. He’s limp in Derek’s hold and he doesn’t put up a fight when he’s dragged into the building.

The elevator doors open and Derek’s heart stops because there’s Cora. She’s cleaned up and dressed in some of Erica’s clothes. She rises from the couch and rushes over and Derek has trouble breathing. 

“Derek? What happened to him?” She asks, glaring at him over Scott’s body. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” Derek says. 

Cora bristles. “Who are you?” She asks, tone challenging. 

“Scott.” Boyd says, coming over to join them. “He’s a good guy.”

Cora looks doubtful but doesn’t protest when Boyd starts telling Derek about the alphas. They bring Scott over to the couch and lay him down. 

Boyd finishes recounting the pipe incident and Derek’s got a better understanding of what sort of damage has been done to his body. If Scott had just waited a while longer, he would’ve healed fine and none of this would’ve happened, but he pushed himself too far and got desperate. Now everything’s irredeemably fucked up. Derek isn’t sure if he wants to change back immediately so he can fix this or if wants to stay switched forever and just leave Scott in the mess he made.

“Whose blood?” Boyd asks. 

There’s red smeared across Derek’s jaw from where Scott bit Stiles. Derek doesn’t like the look of it. It’s too brutal, too unclean, not at all how a werewolf bite’s supposed to go. 

“Stiles.” He says. 

Boyd looks at him, surprised. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know.” Derek confesses. Scott’s fast asleep and it’s going to be a while till he wakes up again, so Derek leaves Cora and Boyd standing guard and goes down to the store to stock up on food and bottled water. Scott will heal faster once he’s eaten something. He gets stuff for Cora too, things he remembers she used to like or things he thinks she might like. It makes him feel like a proper brother for the first time in a long time, and even in the messy circumstances, a little bit of the tightness in his chest eases. 

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Deaton sits in front of Stiles, using surgical scissors to cut his shirt away. Gloved fingers peel back the fabric carefully, picking it out of the wound, and Stiles hisses. 

Isaac has trouble looking once the injury’s mostly visible. Derek clearly didn’t want to let go and there are areas where he tore into Stiles, leaving loose skin dangling over exposed bone and muscle. It’s sloppy and traumatic and Isaac can’t help but ask why Derek would do this. 

Deaton looks up at him after he’s voiced his question. 

“You said he was injured?” Deaton says. They already explained as much as they could when he entered the office. “Alphas get their power and their strength from their pack. An alpha with a large pack is stronger and can heal more quickly. An alpha with a small pack isn’t so lucky. He may have struck out in a moment of desperation.” 

Deaton looks at Stiles and the teen has a little ‘oh’ moment. 

“If he was hurt that badly why come to the school at all?” Allison asks. 

“He may not have realized the extent of his injuries.” Deaton explains sadly. He focuses on the wound, cleaning off some of the blood with cotton swabs. 

“Can I see it?” Stiles asks. “The bite.” He can’t really get his head turned just right to see it. 

“Are you sure?” Deaton asks. 

Stiles swallows, thinking about it carefully and then nods. 

Deaton retrieves a small, rectangular mirror, angling it so Stiles can see. The teen stares into the reflection. It’s worse than he thought it would be. He can see inside his body in areas, at the meat of his muscle, and he almost gags. He’s always been squeamish. Scott knows how squeamish he is, and he thinks about that and it makes him mad.

Stiles turns away, unable to look any longer, and Deaton places the mirror face-down on his desk. 

“Is it…” Stiles stops and licks his lips, unable to complete the question on the first try. He starts again. “Is it like a proper bite? Like a werewolf bite? Or is it...could it just be a bite-bite? I mean, I’m not gonna turn or die, I’m just gonna heal and…” 

Deaton’s got this sad, heartbreaking look on his face that gets worse the longer Stiles keeps talking. Stiles’ eyes get wet but he keeps barrelling on, because Deaton’s not stopping him or giving him an answer. 

“And everything can get back to normal and I’m just gonna be regular old human Stiles. And I’m not gonna grow mutton chops or do weird backflips because I have something against stairs. Or die. Please tell me I can’t die from this. Because I can’t do that to my dad. This is just a regular bite right? Just tell me it’s a regular bite.” Stiles pleads, and tears are coming out but he can’t feel embarrassed about it, because Deaton’s not saying anything. “Please?” Stiles adds quietly, desperately. 

“Stiles…” Deaton says, and Stiles knows that tone. It’s the one people use when they’re about to say something they really, really don’t want to. 

“Oh god.” Stiles says and the panic attack he’d been keeping at bay for the past hour finally starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional note - I didn't tag warn for Werewolf Stiles because to be perfectly honest, I hadn't actually planned for it. Sometimes you can plan and outline and stuff just happens anyway.
> 
> Chapter 6B should be up July 6th. (It's technically the other half of this chapter. I'd have uploaded it all together, but it's seriously long.)


	7. 6B Bite Club II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the cover art was done by the marvelous [blackbirdrose](http://blackbirdrose.deviantart.com/)
> 
> (Btw, if anyone's curious, the Korean Drama Scott talks about is a reference to Secret Garden.)

**Chapter 6B: Bite Club II**

It’s 4:00 o’clock. Scott woke up an hour ago and Derek’s managed to keep him in the dark about the Stiles situation. He just tells Scott he passed out at the school so Derek brought him back to the loft.

Boyd and Cora are pretty good about not giving anything away. Truth be told, Derek’s not sure they really care. Boyd seems to have other things to worry about - like the alphas and Erica. And Cora doesn’t even know Stiles. She probably wouldn’t give a shit if she did.

They’re all sitting in the living room. The TV’s on and Scott’s watching it in lieu of anything else to do. He keeps glancing around nervously, not sure what to do. It’s extremely awkward sitting with the two Hales and Boyd. He wants to text Stiles, but Derek took his phone away, muttering something about leaving Scott’s in detention.

Derek’s on the armchair, reading one of his books. It’s a well worn copy that he’s read a billion times, but he’s content to thumb through it.

Boyd’s found a crossword and is filling it out, looking up occasionally and just staring off into the distance. Scott doesn’t think that has anything to do with the crossword though.

Cora’s on the couch, looking just as out of place as Scott feels.

“This is boring.” She says.

“Then change the channel.” Derek mutters, not looking up from his book.

Cora huffs. “Not the show, stupid.” She snaps, turning her attention to Scott. “Why is he still here?”

“Cora.” Boyd says softly.

Scott gets an idea. “Why don’t you two go out and go bowling or something?”

“Bowling?” Cora asks, unimpressed.

“Or something.” Scott adds.

Cora exchanges a look with Boyd. “We’d need money.”

Scott grabs Derek’s wallet and pulls out a hundred dollars. Derek gives the money disapproving look as Cora grabs it. She and Boyd leave the loft with happy enough expressions. Derek watches them go with a frown.

“Are you matchmaking my sister?” He asks. 

That wasn’t Scott’s intention but it’s not a bad idea. “She could do worse than Boyd.” He points out.

“Did you have to give them so much money?” Derek asks, looking pained.

“Did you have to get detention?” Scott asks.

Fair point, Derek supposes. 

“I wanted to get rid of them so we could work out this whole body swap thing.” Scott says.

“How?” Derek asks.

Scott shrugs. “Maybe we could research body swap stories and see how they worked out.” Scott tries. “Please tell me you have a laptop.”

Derek does have a laptop. He doesn’t know how to use it, so Scott ends up taking charge. And setting it up, because apparently Derek couldn’t get further than opening the box. In half and hour they have a bunch of tabs open with descriptions of a bunch of different body swap stories.

“So, in this one they don’t switch back until they understand each other.” Scott says. That solution shows up in a few of them actually. He looks at Derek, who’s seated on the couch next to him frowning in frustration. “Maybe we just have to realize what it’s like to be in each other’s shoes?”

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. “Scott, it’s a spell. We just have to find out how to break the spell, which is probably with a counter spell. This isn’t a movie.”

“Well maybe this is how we break the spell!” Scott protests.

Derek huffs and Scott falls back against the couch in defeat. It’s been almost an hour of research and he’s already exhausted.

“Do you want to try the kissing one?” Scott asks.

“What?” Derek stares at him in disbelief.

“It was this Korean drama. They switch every time they kiss.”

“We didn’t kiss.” Derek points out.

“Neither did they, at first.” Scott says, furrowing Derek’s brows and scrunching his nose as he thinks. “They had these magic tea or something and then they had to kiss to switch back.”

Derek grimaces.

“Could be worth a shot.” Scott says.

“I don’t want to kiss you.” Derek snaps.

“I don’t want to kiss you either. But we wouldn’t really be kissing each other, would we? We’d be kissing ourselves.” Scott counters. 

Derek considers it.

“Plus, what if it works?” Scott asks, sitting up a little straighter. 

Derek narrows Scott’s eyes and glares at the other werewolf. “Fine.” He mutters.

They lean in. Scott’s quicker to initiate the kiss than Derek is, pressing Derek’s mouth to his own. It’s weird. His lips are chapped, but also kind of soft. It would be nice if it wasn’t so bizarre.

For his part, Derek mentally transports himself to sandy beaches and tries not to notice how big his lips are.

“It didn’t work.” Derek says when they pull away.

“I didn’t really think it would.” Scott admits, leaning back against the couch.

“Then why’d you suggest it?” Derek asks.

Scott shrugs. “How often do you get a chance to kiss yourself?” 

Derek nods. “Let’s never talk about this.” He says.

“Deal.”

They’re sitting in relatively companionable silence when Peter has to come in and ruin it all. 

“Hello, Scott.” He says, smiling as he struts into the room. “Are we to have two new additions to the pack then or will we be sharing Stiles?”

Scott stares at him warily while Derek stiffens.

Peter tuts. “Really nephew, biting people without asking. Where do you get your manners?”

“What are you talking about?” Scott asks.

“Derek doesn’t remember.” Derek grits out, glaring at Peter. “And I haven’t gotten around to explaining it yet.”

Peter’s face hardens. “Well let me break it down for you, Derek.” Peter says, shifting into more serious gear. “You lost control. You bit a human. You broke the code and now the Argents are going to kill you. And if you die, I become the alpha, which, contrary to what you seem to think, isn’t a role I’m eager to fill. So I suggest you find a way to fix this.”

Scott looks at Derek, realization dawning on his face. “I bit Stiles?” He asks.

“Yes.” Peter says in frustration. “You really didn’t tell him?” He asks Derek.

“I was working up to it.” Derek replies.

“I bit Stiles?” Scott repeats, glancing between Derek and Peter.

Peter tilts his head, studying his nephew. “You’re acting very strange.” He observes.

“No he’s not.” Derek protests.

Peter turns his attention to Scott. “You’re acting strange too.”

“I’m not acting strange. You’re acting strange.” Derek says. He should really just shut up.

“You know if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you two had switched bodies.”

Scott and Derek look up with wide eyes.

“That’s not possible.” Derek says.

“There’s no such thing.” Scott adds.

“Oh shut up.” Peter snaps. “I’ve been following you two around all day. You really need to pay more attention. And next time, don’t leave clues lying around.” He says, tapping the laptop with his foot. It’s still on and showing a google search of body swap stories.

“Why would I bite Stiles?” Scott asks, because he really thinks that’s a more important issue.

Peter rolls his eyes.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles sits on his bed, staring at the the wall and clenching his hands together. He sniffs and lifts his good arm, roughly rubbing the moisture away from his eyes. He’s supposed to be packing, but he’s just been sitting there trying to get a hold of himself. Isaac and Allison are waiting downstairs, ready to take him to Allison’s house for the night. He’d rather be staying here with his dad just in case it’s his last chance, but he knows they have to be safe. He wonders if he should leave a note. Something for his dad if he doesn’t make it.

He tries to tell himself he’s being dramatic. It’s been a few hours and he hasn’t started coughing up black so far. Deaton said that the bite wouldn’t really take until sundown though, so it could go either way. He keeps waiting for something to happen. That seems to be all this situation boils down to really - waiting. It’s agony.

God, he wishes he could just go back in time and reverse this. Would it have been so hard for Scott to keep his fangs to himself? Stiles keeps getting struck by just how pointless and avoidable this whole thing was. He wonders if this is how Scott felt after he got bit.

Stiles sighs, wiping his eyes again. Scott’s going to be such a mess over this.

“Fuck.” Stiles curses. He can’t think straight. His brain’s twisting in so many directions at once, all the elephants in the room stampeding through his vision and making him dizzy.

He stands up from his bed, looking around the room and trying to put his mind to something else. He’s a puzzle solver. That’s what he does, he pieces clues together and strategizes and tries to fit things into a more organized chaos. If he can’t do that with this, then he’s just going to have to focus on something more useful.

Stiles starts packing.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Scott runs. He’s a blur as he rushes through town, panic and adrenaline coursing through him. Peter and Derek had tried to stop him from leaving, but he’d pushed past them. He’s feeling better physically. He’s healed, and even if he wasn’t, he’d bitten Stiles; he can’t just sit around the loft and ignore that.

Allison’s car is parked outside the Stilinski house. She and Isaac are waiting in the entryway when he bursts through the door. Allison has her bow ready and Isaac’s wolfed out, watching him warily.

“Stiles?” Scott asks.

“Derek, you need to go.” Isaac tells him.

“Stiles. Stiles, is he-”

“Leave.” Allison bites out. “Or I will shoot.”

Scott can tell she means it, but he doesn’t care. “Stiles!” He shouts. He can smell him. He’s in the house and when he listens closely there’s a heartbeat up in Stiles’ room. It skips when Scott shouts his name. “Stiles!” He takes a step towards the stairs and Isaac blocks him. “I need to see him.”

“No.” Allison says, her trigger finger twitching. Her eyes are hard and her stance is steady. She’s in full hunter mode and Scott’s chest hurts when he sees the distrust in her face.

Stiles hears Derek’s voice from up in his room. Scott’s here, right now, in his house, and Stiles so isn’t ready for this. He sounds so panicked and Stiles freezes up for a moment. It takes everything he has to walk over to his door and open it. He breathes in deep and looks out at the entryway. He should feel worried when he sees Allison with her bow, but it makes him feel safer.

“Stiles.” Scott says when he sees his friend. Stiles has changed his shirt and Scott can see the outline of a bandage underneath the material. Scott starts to freak out, but he controls himself. He can’t make this about him. He’s not here for him, he’s here to make sure Stiles is okay. 

Stiles swallows and licks his lips. “I want to talk to him.” He says.

Allison looks up in surprise. “Stiles, no.” She says.

“What’s he gonna do, bite me?” Stiles asks.

There’s a long pause as Allison searches his face. She nods, stepping back and giving Scott a warning look. “We’re gonna be right downstairs.” She says, loud enough for Stiles to hear but mostly directing it at Scott. 

Stiles disappears into his bedroom and waits. Scott climbs the stairs quickly. He hesitates for just a second before stepping inside.

“Stiles, I…” Scott falters. Should he apologize? He knows he should but it doesn’t seem like enough. He’s not sure what the right thing to say is and he’s a little scared that there isn’t a right option, just a less bad one.

“If you’re gonna say sorry, then you can shove it.” Stiles snaps. He won’t look at Scott. His fingers flex and he turns, stomping over to his bed and folding a t-shirt, occupying himself before he punches the werewolf.

“I am though.” Scott says. “I know it’s not enough, but god, Stiles, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re right, it isn’t enough.” Stiles retorts, shoving his shirt into his suitcase and turning his head to glare at his friend. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t! I didn’t even realize I was doing it.” Scott says. “I didn’t even know I did it until Peter told me.”

“Peter knows?” Stiles hisses, moving past Scott and slamming the door shut. “Scott, what the hell?”

 “I don’t know. Apparently he’s been following me and Derek around. He knows that we switched.” Scott says.

 “And has it crossed your mind that he might be behind the switch?” Stiles asks, moving back to his suitcase.

 It had actually, but Scott hadn’t paid much mind to it. “But he’d have to be able to do magic.”

 “Scott, he came back from the dead.” Stiles points out. “That doesn’t seem a little Evil Sorcerer to you?”

 Scott frowns, but has to accede the point. “But why would do this?”

 Stiles rolls his eyes. “It’s Peter. Why does he do anything?”

 Scott gives it a moment of thought. “Power.” He concludes.

 Stiles nods, frowning down at the pants he’s folding. He’s favoring his left arm, like the right hurts too much. Scott sees the bandage poking out of Stiles’ shirt, on his right trapezius muscle. He steps forward, tentatively, and puts a gentle hand on the clothing, stilling Stiles’ movements.

 “Let me.” He offers.

 “I can do it.” Stiles bites out.

 “Stiles, please…” Scott pleads.

 Stiles groans and throws the clothes down, stepping away from the bed. “Fine, you do it.” He snaps, stomping over to his desk. He pushes a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling under his skin.

 Scott starts folding, trying not to break under the tension in the room.

 There’s a beat of silence followed by a harsh crash as Stiles uses his good arm to knock his desklamp onto the floor. It shatters and Scott flinches, his shoulders hunching down. Stiles breathes heavy, resting his hand on the worktable and closing his eyes. The smell of anger in the room is cut through with fear and distress.

 “God, Scott…” Stiles says, voice breaking. “What if the bite doesn’t take?”

 Scott frowns, confused. “What?” He asks.

 Stiles looks over his shoulder, taking in the lack of understanding on Derek’s face. “You don’t know.” He whispers, blood pounding in his ears. “How can you not know?”

 “Stiles, what’s wrong?” Scott asks.

 “Scott…” Stiles turns around, facing his friend fully. He swallows, Adam’s Apple bobbing. “You know after the Winter Formal, when I was with Peter?”

 Scott nods.

 “He offered me the bite.” Stiles confesses.

 Surprise goes through Scott and Derek’s eyes widen.

 “And he told me that it could either turn me, or...it could kill me.” Stiles reveals.

 Scott can’t get any air in. It feels like being impaled again, but this time through his chest. “No, you can’t...Stiles, if I’d known-”

 “Dude, if you could’ve stopped yourself you would’ve.” Stiles says, knowing his friend too well. He feels a bit calmer now, knowing that Scott didn’t know about this. Stiles isn’t sure if it will last long. His mood keeps changing, fluctuating from second to second as he tries to come to grips with the circumstances.

 Scott slumps down on the bed, staring ahead of him in panic. It’s honestly been his worst fear that he’ll lose control and hurt someone. And now he has, and it’s his best friend, and he was trying to stay together so he could help Stiles through this, but now the nightmare’s just doubled.

 He’s just like Peter.

 “God, how could I...Stiles, I...oh my god.” Scott mutters and he can’t breathe.

 “Scott, stop.” Stiles says, stepping over to his friend. He puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder and Scott can feel the warmth leak through Derek’s Henley. “Come on, dude, please don’t do this. I can’t deal with another crisis right now, because I am like three seconds away from losing my fricken mind and I just really need my best friend.”

 Scott looks up at Stiles, staring into pleading eyes, and pulls him into a hug. He’s careful about Stiles’ wound, and tugs him down gently. Stiles is surprised by the embrace, especially when Scott pulls him down into Derek’s lap, but he doesn’t protest. He lifts his good arm, wrapping it around Derek’s back and feeling the strong muscles shift as Scott holds him. Scott tucks Derek’s face into Stiles’ neck, and Stiles feels rough scruff rub against the skin. He should probably tell Scott to shave later.

 Stiles sniffs, staring at his bedsheets over Derek’s shoulder. They’re rumpled and he wonders if he should make up the bed before he leaves. Maybe he should clean his room too, so his dad doesn’t have as much of a mess to sort through if Stiles doesn’t…

 He lets out a shuddering breath.

 “I’m scared.” He confesses quietly into Derek’s collarbone. As much as he doesn’t want to die, the prospect of turning makes him feel trapped. Being human gave him a sense of freedom, like he could walk away if he really wanted to. He’d never do it, of course, he couldn’t abandon Scott like that, but he was a human and that was his choice. Now he’s stuck. He’ll never escape any of this no matter how much he wants to.

 “I know.” Scott says, rubbing a hand over Stiles’ back.

  _I love you._ The thought hangs on Stiles’ tongue, trapped between his lips. He doesn’t voice it. Not because there’s anything wrong with saying it - Scott’s his best friend, he knows he loves him. And Stiles knows if he said it, Scott would say it back. But it’s a complicated phrase and putting it out there would bring up too many ideas and questions in Stiles’ mind, so he keeps it where it is, simple and unspoken between them.

 “I kissed Derek.” Scott says after a long silence. Stiles’ eyebrows furrow and he goes to pull back, but Scott doesn’t want to let go just yet, so Stiles stays where he is.

 “Why?” He asks, trying not to sound judgemental and failing.

 “We wanted to see if it would switch us back.” Scott explains.

 “Right.” Stiles says, pretending that makes sense.

 “Don’t say anything though. I was supposed to keep it a secret.”

 Scott’s always been bad at keeping things from Stiles. Even things Stiles really doesn’t want to know.

 “My lips are sealed.” Stiles replies. “So what was it like?”

 “Weird.” Scott says. “He wasn’t really into it.”

 “Were you?”

 Scott rolls Derek’s broad shoulders in a shrug.

 It’s odd, Stiles thinks. Here he is sitting in Scott’s lap, embracing him, and they’re talking casually like they always do this sort of thing. It’s especially odd because it’s technically Derek’s lap, but it’s getting easier thinking of it as Scott’s. It’ll probably take some adjusting if they ever manage to switch the two back.

There’s a knock at the door and they both jump. The entrance creaks open before they have time to pull apart and Isaac’s head pokes in. The blond’s eyes narrow at first and he looks worried, but once he takes stock of the situation, he goes red, mouth stuttering over the shape of letters that won’t come out and eyes going as wide as saucers. The door slams shut quickly.

“Um, sorry.” Isaac shouts, following an embarrassed pause. “Allison says we should get going soon. So whenever you guys are done...talking.”

“It’s not what it looks like!” Stiles protests, stumbling out of Scott’s hold and off of Derek’s lap.

Scott hears a muttered “oh my god” as Isaac takes off down the hallway.

“We’re just friends!” Stiles continues.

“He’s gone.” Scott says.

Stiles glares at the door then shakes his head. Whatever. If Isaac thinks he’s boning Derek, so be it.

“So where are you going?” Scott asks, gesturing back at the suitcase.

“I’m staying at Allison’s for the night.”

“Oh.” Scott says. He licks Derek’s lips, nervous. “You could stay at the loft. If you want.”

Stiles is tempted. He hasn’t forgiven Scott yet, not really, but he’s not as angry as he was. Of course, that might change once the sun goes down. And he’s not sure if he wants Scott to see whatever happens to him then. He doesn’t want to put that on Scott.

It hurts, but he says no.

“Oh. Okay.” Scott says, disappointed.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” Stiles says instead of saying goodbye. Scott nods and leaves Stiles to his packing.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles changes his mind halfway to Allison’s. She’s not happy about it, but he’s stubborn so she drives him over to Derek’s. Isaac comes up with him, because apparently he lives there, and Stiles steps into the loft.

Scott looks up quickly. He’s sitting on the couch next to Peter, who barely acknowledges Stiles before turning his attention back to the TV.

“I changed my mind.” He explains at Scott’s questioning expression. If he can’t be with his dad, then he can at least be with Scott. He’s surprised to see Derek there, seated on the armchair with one of their assigned books from English. Stiles hasn’t actually read it yet and he wonders if he can bum answers off of Derek. “Does your mom know you’re here?” He asks.

Derek morphs Scott’s face into a confused frown while Scott widens Derek’s eyes.

“Mom.” Scott says in realization.

“Your’s is dead.” Peter points out. “ _Scott_ , I suggest you call the delectable Mrs. McCall and tell her you’re spending the night at a friend’s. Here, you can borrow my phone, _Scott._ ”

Peter smirks at his nephew and hands his cell over. Scott reclaimed Derek’s earlier when he got back so Stiles could contact him.

Derek rips the phone away, glaring at his uncle.

Isaac steps into the room, sniffing.

“Isaac?” Scott asks.

“I smell Boyd. And…” Isaac trials off, frowning in confusion. 

“I lent some of Erica’s clothes to Cora.” Scott says.

“Oh.” Isaac mutters, looking disappointed.

Stiles sweeps through the living room and over to the table in front of the window. He’s got two hours till sundown and he’s decided to put the time to good use. He rifles through his bag, pulling out a map and files.

An unofficial pack meeting commences when Scott and Derek, who’s ended his conversation with Mrs. McCall, come to join him.

“How’d you even get these?” Scott asks, holding up the police reports.

“It’s probably better if you don’t know.” Stiles says. He looks back at his map, circling another area where a body was found. “So we’ve got the pool, the school, the edge of the preserve…” Stiles says, contemplating the chart. “What do they all have in common?” He asks, nose wrinkling in thought.

“Trees?” Isaac pipes up from the armchair where he’d settled earlier.

“Except for the pool.” Derek says.

They stare at the map, frowning, and Isaac comes over. Seconds tick by and Stiles glances at the clock.

“They’re all public.” Isaac notes. They look at him curiously. “The pool, the school,” Isaac says, pointing at each spot on the map, “And then that area of the preserve’s been split up into hiking trails.”

“People.” Stiles mutters.

“What about where everyone was taken from?” Derek asks.

Stiles lays out each report. “Heather,” He says, voice cracking slightly, “was taken from her basement. Emily,” He points at Caitlin’s statement, “was taken from the preserve while camping. And this guy...” Stiles looks at the lifeguard he found last night, frowning. “Was probably killed while he was at the pool?” He mumbles.

“So what do they have in common?” Scott says.

“Except for the basement, they’re all outside.” Derek observes.

“And pretty isolated.” Isaac says. “You have the woods in the middle of the night, a pool after dark. Nobody’s gonna be there.”

“Heather was having a birthday party though. The house was packed.” Scott says.

“And she was taken from a private residence.” Isaac says. “These other places are public.”

“She doesn’t seem to fit.” Derek points out.

“It doesn’t make any sense.” Stiles mutters, grabbing the lifeguard’s file and shuffling through the papers.

“What doesn’t make sense?” Scott asks.

“ _‘A pool after dark. Nobody’s gonna be there.’_ ” Stiles says, quoting Isaac. “Including the lifeguard. He shouldn’t have been there.”

“What?” Scott asks.

Stiles pulls out a picture of the crime scene, laying it out on the table. He points at the dead guy. “Look, he’s in his lifeguard uniform.”

“So?” Derek says.

“So Lydia and I found him at, like, 1 in the morning. Nobody knew he was there yet. Which means that if he was killed at the pool, it would have had to have been after the community center closed.”

“Glad we cleared that up.” Derek says.

“No, you don’t get it.” Stiles continues. “The community center doesn’t close till 9, but the pool closes at 6. Even if he had to clean and lock up, it shouldn’t have taken more than, what? Half an hour? An hour? Even if it took longer, he still would’ve been gone before the place closes. There’s no reason for him to be there in his lifeguard uniform after closing time. But if he was killed before then, someone would’ve noticed. Those windows look right out at the pool and the janitor doesn’t leave till 10, 10:30 and he always locks everything up. Including the gates to the swimming area. With the pool lights on he couldn’t have missed this guy.” Stiles says.

“So he wasn’t killed at the pool?” Scott asks. “But then why was he in his uniform?”

“He could’ve been killed there after 6 and hidden somewhere till the place closed.” Isaac suggests.

“Maybe.” Stiles says.

“There’d be a big mess though.” Scott notes, contemplating the picture of the lifeguard. “He’s covered in blood. It would’ve dripped all over the floor. And he’d have lost control of his bowel and bladder.” He says. He can thank his mom for that information.

“So the killer would’ve needed time to clean up.” Isaac observes.

“Which he wouldn’t have had at the community center until after the janitor left.” Derek says.

“And this guy wouldn’t have been there then.” Scott states.

Stiles sighs. “Exactly.”

“So what? He was abducted from the pool, killed somewhere else, and then put there?” Scott questions.

“If you ask me.” Peter says. “You’re all over-complicating it. Who’d go through this much trouble? And why?”

“Some sort of ritual?” Scott offers. 

Peter laughs. “Let me guess, druid sacrifice? Was that Stiles’ theory?”

It wasn’t just Stiles’ theory, it was Deaton’s too, but Stiles doesn’t point that out. He just glares.

“Druids don’t sacrifice people, and even if they were going to, this is all wrong. There are no symbols and the bodies haven’t been prepared.”

“Prepared?” Derek asks.

“They’re supposed to be poisoned first. Then they’re smeared with oils and special herbs and put up on an altar in honor of the gods. It’s not a brutal ceremony.”

“I thought you said druids don’t sacrifice people.” Derek says.

“I said they don’t, not they didn’t.” Peter counters.

“Could it be a fringe extremist?” Isaac asks.

“A mad druid sacrificing people for some dark ritual?” Peter mocks. “To what end? These aren’t sacred areas. There’s nothing magical about these deaths.”

“Then why make them so elaborate?” Scott asks.

“For attention.” Derek says.

“So what, Beacon Hills has it’s first non-supernatural serial killer?” Stiles says in disbelief.

“Looks like it.” Scott replies.

Stiles shakes his head. “No, there’s something more going on here.”

“Stiles, face it, it’s just some psycho.” Isaac says. “We should focus on the alpha pack. You know, the actual supernatural threat that swore vengeance today.”

Stiles huffs, looking around the table. Even Scott seems to be siding with Isaac and Stiles throws his hand up in frustration. “Fine, whatever!” He says, pushing away from the table and going to Derek’s room.

“Stiles.” Scott urges, but his friend just slams the door shut.

“Touchy.” Isaac mutters. 

“Not touchy.” Scott sighs, searching for the right word. “Pertinacious.”

Isaac’s brows furrow in confusion. “What?”

**Word of the Day: September 1st**

**Pertinacious** **_(adjective)_ **

**Definition: Holding firmly to an opinion or a course of action.**  

“You could’ve just said stubborn.” Isaac grumbles.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles paces in Derek’s bedroom, chewing his left thumbnail and taking twitchy steps forward and back. His right side twinges, throbbing under the bandage and adding to his irritability. Deaton gave him a painkiller earlier. Stiles thinks it was medicine for dogs, but he’d been in enough pain that he hadn’t protested. It’s wearing off now and he wonders if he ought to take some Advil or Tylenol, something to take the edge off, but that tends to make him drowsy. He’s only got an hour left till sunset anyway. He can manage.

Letting out a stuttering breath, he releases his finger from his teeth and runs his hand through his hair instead. His mind tumbles and turns over the situation. If he’s being honest, he understands why everyone would rather focus on the alpha pack. His case is flimsy and he knows he overreacted, which he blames on his anxiety. He just has a feeling about this one. 

Maybe he’s just too emotionally involved to let it go.

There’s a gentle knock and then Scott steps into the room. “Stiles…” Scott starts, closing the door behind him.

“I know.” Stiles says before Scott can continue. “I should leave it to my dad. Lydia said that, you guys said it, my dad said it. But I can’t.”

“Why not? Your dad’s a good cop.”

“Yeah, when he actually has something to work with.” Stiles says, swinging his arm out in frustration. “Do you know how many case files he has sitting around because of werewolves and kanimas and god knows what else? He only has half the story.”

Scott sighs. “Yeah, but if this is a regular serial killer, he doesn’t need the rest. He can solve this.”

“And if it isn’t a regular serial killer?” Stiles asks, turning around to look at Scott. “And he goes poking around and gets hurt?”

“Stiles, we can’t solve all of his cases just in case. We don’t have time for that. We need to focus on the alphas.”

Stiles sighs. “You’re right.” He admits, rubbing his forehead. After a little convincing, he follows Scott back out of the bedroom, feeling a little sheepish. 

“Nice of you to join us.” Peter says.

Derek glares at his uncle.

“The alphas?” Isaac asks, looking at Scott for confirmation.

Scott nods Derek’s head. “So far we’ve got five of them, right?”

“The alpha alpha.” Derek states.

“Deucalion.” Peter chimes in. Everyone looks at him suspiciously. “He’s very well known.” He says, defensive.

“Right. Deucalion.” Derek mutters.

“Kali and Ennis.” Scott says.

“And the twins.” Isaac adds.

“That mystery girl of Isaac’s.” Stiles says. “I mean, she might not be with the alphas, but we shouldn’t rule her out.”

Isaac looks like he’s about to protest so Scott speaks up. “And we know Ms. Morrell’s working with the alphas.”

“Wait, seriously?” Stiles asks, bewildered. “Because I told her some stuff. Like deeply personal stuff.” He says, thinking back to his meeting with her.

Scott looks at his friend questioningly. “What kind of stuff?” He asks.

Stiles gives him a ‘like I’m gonna tell you’ look and Scott shuts up.

“Anything she could use against you?” Derek asks.

Stiles tries to remember everything he said. He talked about Matt and being scared all the time. He kind of spilled the beans about his sexual identity crisis, but he’s not sure how the alphas could use that against him. He also may have mentioned having lurid dreams about Scott, but she told him that was normal. She’d actually been pretty helpful. “Not that I can think of.”

“I talked to her about my dad.” Isaac says, clenching his jaw nervously. “Do you think that’s how they knew? About the claustrophobia?”

“Probably.” Derek says.

“What do you mean?” Scott asks.

“They trapped me in a supply closet during detention.“ Isaac explains.

“The claw marks though…” Derek murmurs. “Isaac had claw marks on his neck.”

“They must’ve gotten you during track.” Stiles notes, watching Isaac. His face doesn’t give anything away and he seems to not remember the incident.

“So they went after Isaac and Stiles.” Scott says. “So what are they doing? Reading everyone’s memories?”

“Or planting new ones.” Peter offers.

“What exactly can a werewolf do, when they use their claws like that?” Stiles asks.

“At a basic level - memory manipulation, mind reading, temporary paralysis. At an extreme level - anything.” Peter says. “It’s a direct tap right into the victim’s brain. It’s infinite power.”

Everyone shifts uncomfortably.

“So what are the alphas up to?” Isaac asks.

“Fucking with us.” Stiles supplies. “Seriously, these guys sound like they can do anything. They could’ve wiped us out in seconds if they wanted to, but they kidnap Erica and Boyd then sit on their asses for four months with some convoluted bank plan?”

“That plan was kind of weird.” Scott agrees.

“It was flimsy.” Stiles says. “It depended too much on everyone being in the exact right place at the exact right time. I mean, If I hadn’t found the bank map when I did on the day I did, or if Scott and Derek had gone to the bank before or after the that night, none of this would’ve worked.”

“And this wouldn’t have happened if Isaac hadn’t gotten to the bank in the first place.” Scott adds.

“Which I didn’t even remember doing.” Isaac points out.

“So if we hadn’t gone to Deaton when we did, we wouldn’t have known about it.”

Stiles digs into his bag, pulling out his special pillow and his laptop and rooting under the clothes until he finds his backpack. He takes out a marker and a notebook, opening the cap of the pen with his teeth and turning to a blank page.

“What are you doing?” Scott asks.

Stiles spits the cap into the air and catches it on it’s way down, an old habit. “Dates.” He explains, writing on the paper. “Erica and Boyd were kidnapped at the end of May…” He starts, listing it down. “Then nothing for four months.” He draws a line down, creating a timeline. “Isaac finds the bank. The next night, Scott and I go to a party and Heather gets kidnapped.”

Isaac groans. “I thought we were focusing on the alphas.”

“Bear with me.” Stiles urges. Scott seems the only one willing to do so, waiting patiently while Stiles creates the chart. Everyone else starts to grumble. “Okay, look.” Stiles says when he’s finished. He’s got twenty minutes till sundown. “The alpha pack shows up in town and then does nothing the whole summer, right? Then suddenly the day before school starts, Isaac finds the bank. School starts, Heather gets kidnapped, and we find out about the bank. Then last night you guys go to the bank. Lydia discovers the lifeguard at the pool. You guys go after Boyd and Cora. Emily gets murdered. I mean, Is it just me, or is the timing on all this a little weird? Why did the alphas wait four months to come after us and why does a serial killer show up right when they do?”

Peter nods, staring at the notebook. “A series of seemingly unrelated events all happening at the same time.”

“There’s gotta be some sort of connection.” Stiles says.

“Aren’t we jumping to conclusions?” Isaac asks.

“Peter and Kate?” Stiles points out, “Matt and Jackson? Now this? I mean, three times is a pattern, right?”

“Except we don’t know that the alphas and the murders are connected.” Derek counters.

“We don’t know that they aren’t.” Stiles snaps.

They stare each other down and Scott can feel the tension in the room start to increase. Isaac’s clearly on Derek’s side and Peter’s not on anyone’s, which just leaves Scott to balance it out or overrule Stiles.

“So what do we do?” Isaac asks, looking at Scott. Everyone mirrors him, waiting for Scott’s decision. Even Derek, which comes as a surprise.

Scott lets out a breath, thinking. “We keep an open mind.” He says.

Everyone nods.

“Right, open mind.” Stiles mutters.

“Stiles.” Derek says, drawing the teen’s attention toward the window.

The sun’s going down.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles is screaming bloody murder and Scott has no idea what to do. He doesn’t actually remember his transformation, and neither does Isaac. It turns out Derek kind of bit then bailed, so neither of the Hales offer much help either. Stiles is on Derek’s bed, where he was moved so he’d be more comfortable. It doesn’t seem to be working.

Stiles’ scent is all pain and he keeps writhing, muscles tensing and contracting under his skin.

“Fuck, fuck!” Stiles shouts between heavy breaths. His eyes are clenched shut and he’s dripping sweat.

Scott grabs Stiles’ hand and tries to calm him down. “Come on, Stiles, breathe.” He does that pregnancy breathing thing and tries to get Stiles’ to do it with him.

“I’m not giving birth, jackass!” Stiles snaps. He squeezes the hand in his, almost crushing it as his body spasms. He lets out an anguished cry, which breaks off into a sob. The sensation seems to pass and he licks his lips, panting. It doesn’t last long and he stiffens. The injured arm comes up, clutching at Derek’s bicep, and Stiles’ back bows as he wails. “Why did you do this to me?” He shouts, legs kicking against the bed sheets as he twists around, trying to escape the agony.

“He sounds like he’s giving birth.” Isaac mutters and Stiles’ eyes fly open. They’re beta gold.

It only lasts a millisecond before they flash back to normal, but it leaves Scott shaken. He pulls himself back together and grabs Stiles’ shoulders to keep him from lunging at Isaac.

“Fuck you, Lahey!” Stiles snarls, struggling against Scott’s hold.

Scott looks back at Peter, Derek, and Isaac and glares. “Get him out of here.” He orders, indicating the blond werewolf. Isaac holds his hands up in surrender and steps out of the room. “You guys too.” Scott says, nodding at Peter and Derek. They linger, looking they want to ask what they did. “Get out!” Scott yells, eyes flashing red. They step out into the living room and Stiles stops struggling and just holds on tight as tries to ride out the discomfort.

“God fucking dammit!” Stiles curses, scratching at Derek’s shirt and Scott flinches, because those are definitely claws going into his skin.

Scott clenches Derek’s jaw and doesn’t stop Stiles. He’ll heal, so he just holds his friend and lets him do what he needs to so he can get through this. They continue like that for a while before Stiles’ starts struggling against his hold, pushing against Derek’s shoulders.

Stiles’ skin burns. He can feel everything - every drop of sweat, every stitch of fabric, every goddamn molecule. Vibrations of electricity and sound push against his skin like physical sensations and everywhere he’s in contact with Derek’s body is even worse and it tingles and burns but also feels kind of good. When his mind reminds him that it’s Scott, he wants to be touched more, longer, everywhere, and he starts to panic.

“Shit. Let go. Stop touching me. Stop touching…” Stiles babbles as he pushes away. His whole body’s aflame. The physical contact was like a salve, cutting through some of the pain, and when Scott let’s go, it hurts even worse, but then Stiles is overcome by tastes and sounds and smells and he can’t think about anything else.

Stiles curls in on himself, clutching at his ears and shaking. He’s whimpering. It’s this insistent, high-pitched noise of pain and Scott wants to reach out and touch him, rub soothing circles in his back, but every time he tries, Stiles freaks out.

The moon rises, hovering high in the sky and streaming light in through the window. It’s only a half moon, so Stiles has a couple of weeks before he’ll go through the full change. Scott watches as the lunar glare touches Stiles’ skin. The teen stiffens, his hands coming away from his ears and his eyes opening. His honey-coloured irises stare at the sky, terrified, and then he spasms, rolling onto his back and shaking in a sudden rush of suffering. The light highlights his pale, sweat-soaked skin and Scott holds Derek’s hands out, ready to hold him or grab him or do whatever Stiles needs.

The teen buries clawed fingers into Derek’s bed sheets and throws his head back. A noise is ripped from his throat, but it's not a scream this time. It's a _howl_.


	8. O Brother. Were, art thou?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Suicide is mentioned in this chapter. If that's something that affects you, just look out. Also, more reference to Kate and statutory rape. Also, angst. 
> 
> Cover Art done by the wonderful blackbirdrose

** Chapter 7; O Brother. Were, art thou? **

“Fuck.”

That’s how Stiles greets Thursday, spilling the curse from a parched throat as he comes back to himself so quickly he’s not sure if he’s actually waking up or just resuming normal functions. His blood’s running wild with adrenaline and he barely glimpses the layered blue of the dawn sky before he’s pushing himself up from the floor. He must’ve fallen asleep, he realizes, because there’s a piece of paper attached to the side of his face, dried drool acting like an adhesive. He rips the paper off.

Stiles crouches on the floor of the loft on all fours. He takes in deep breaths, closing his eyes and trying to compose himself.

Stiles has had a lot of shit go down in his life. He’s had a lot of scary thoughts as a result of it.

_‘My mom’s dead.’_

_‘My father hates me.’_

_‘Scott’s in trouble.’_

_‘Heather’s gone.’_

It’s been a long list of crap, basically. But the next thought Stiles has pushes right past a good chunk of the bullshit and settles in as one of the worst moments of his entire life.

_‘I’m a werewolf.’_

Stiles doesn’t curse this time – not out loud, at least. He would if he could get his vocal cords to work, but it’s enough trouble just keeping his lungs functioning.

It seems almost like an overreaction. He feels fine, really. Better than fine, in fact, because for the first time in months, he’s waking up totally free from any injuries. There are no aches or pains, except for a momentary cramp from sleeping on hard concrete, and even that fades in a matter of seconds. There are no throbbing wounds, no bruises, no lingering traces of his supernatural lifestyle…there’s _nothing_. He’s in a state of total bodily health. Physically, he’s great. Emotionally, he’s a fucking wreck.

It’s like waking up with a spiritual hangover, and he’s so goddamn tired. He’s been tired for almost a year now and he can’t even blame it on his injuries anymore, because he doesn’t have any. He can’t explain away the pain in his chest or the hole in the pit of his stomach or the constant twist of anxiety with a flippant ‘I got banged up a bit, I’ll be fine when I heal.’ He’s healed. He’s better than healed, and he’s not fine at all.

Underneath the fatigue, he’s just pissed. He’s angry and agitated and totally furious. He’s every variation of mad he can think of, all twisting together into something unpleasant and acidic. There’s a hot ball of rage making a permanent home in his chest and he wants to scratch at his skin until he can dig it out.  

Stiles mentally thinks ‘fuck this shit’ and hightails it out of Derek’s loft. Everyone’s still asleep, he thinks, except for Scott, who he hears call after him from somewhere in the apartment as the elevator doors close. Its Derek’s voice, but knowing it’s Scott behind it makes Stiles panic and hit the down button harder, jittering nervously because the elevator isn’t moving fast enough.

Stiles bursts out into the lobby as soon as the doors open and then he takes off, running out into the streets. The wind whips past him and he moves faster than should be humanly possible. It feels something like freedom until his lungs stop working. The world spins, moving at speeds simultaneously too fast and too slow for him to process. He ducks into an alleyway, collapsing near some dumpsters as he rests his head in his hands, gasping for air.

He can’t breathe. He can’t –

“Stiles!”

Stiles lets out a dry sob of frustration. Why can’t everyone just leave him the fuck alone? He just wants some goddamn solitude and he feels like he hasn’t had a moment to himself in way too long. Hell, he’s too scared to masturbate more often than not, because what if one of the werewolves smells it or, worse, Derek sneaks into his room at an inopportune moment? His life’s so fucked. He hates werewolves.

Scott kneels down and Stiles wants to tell him to fuck off, but he’s hindered by the fact that he’s suffocating.

“Stiles.” Scott says and Derek’s voice comes in muffled and foggy, like he’s speaking into a fish tank. “Stiles, breathe in. Come on, breathe in while I count.”

Stiles is tempted to keep hyperventilating just to spite his friend, but he grits his teeth and struggles to inhale while Scott counts. It takes a few tries, and he closes his eyes, listening to Derek’s voice lilting over Scott’s instructions. Scott has him breathe in for five seconds then hold it for two. He’s supposed to breathe out for five, but the air stutters out too quickly and he’s gasping again.

“It’s okay, Stiles. It’s okay.” Scott says when Stiles lets out a frustrated noise and resumes hyperventilating. They repeat the exercise and the voice guiding him through it is supposed to be Scott’s gentle, doctor tone, but it doesn’t work. Derek’s vocal chords don’t go quiet and gentle, they just get hoarse and gruff, like his voice-box never learned kindness. It just serves to remind Stiles of how screwed up everything is. He can’t stop panicking.

It takes fifteen minutes for Stiles to settle and he leans back against the alleyway wall, staring ahead of him with watery eyes. He’s tired. He’s so tired.

“Are you okay?” Scott asks.

“No.” Stiles admits.

Scott deflates, smelling strongly of guilt. At least, that’s what Stiles’ thinks whiskey and hospital room means. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I wish I could-”

“Take it back?” Stiles asks. “Yeah, me too.”

Scott lets out a slow breath. “It’ll get easier.” He says, hoping that he’s being comforting. He has no idea what to do in this situation. He’d be lost anyway, but he did this to his friend. He can’t ever make up for that.

“No it won’t.” Stiles says.

“It will, I swear.”

“No it won’t.” Stiles says firmly, aiming steely eyes at his friend. “Because I’m not doing this.”

“What?” Scott asks, crinkling Derek’s eyebrows in confusion.

Sadness flits across Stiles’ gaze and the teen closes his eyes, resolving himself before looking back up at the other wolf.

“Scott, I would do anything for you.” Stiles starts.

Scott’s immediately on edge, because there’s a ‘but’ coming and he doesn’t want to hear it. He can’t stop it though.

“But I can’t do this.” Stiles whispers, voice cracking. “I _can’t_ be a werewolf.”

“Stiles, you can do anything.” Scott says, trying to reassure his friend. “It’s hard, but I’ll help you. I can’t make this right, but I can help. Or Derek can, if you don’t want anything to do with me. Or anyone else from the pack can help. We’ll find you an anchor and-”

“No, Scott.” Stiles says, watery voice interrupting him as the teen shakes his head. “ _I_ _can’t do this_.” He repeats, more firmly.

There’s something to his tone that tells Scott that this isn’t just Stiles doubting his abilities. It’s not that he can’t do this, it’s that he _won’t_. “Stiles, what are you gonna do?” Scott asks cautiously. The only way to not be a werewolf that he can think of is to…well, he doesn’t even want to say it, but it ends with a note and Stiles’ dead body.

“Scott, I know it’s my fault that we’re in all this werewolf crap. If I hadn’t dragged you out into the woods, you wouldn’t have gotten bit.” Stiles’ lips trembles and he hates that he’s finally letting this out into the open.

“Stiles, it wasn’t your fault.” Scott says quickly.

“Yes it was.” Stiles counter. It comes out more resigned than adamant, because Stiles doesn’t have the energy for this particular argument. “I know we never talk about it, but dude, don’t even pretend you never once blamed me, at least a little.”

Scott swallows, licking Derek’s lips. He doesn’t bother lying, Stiles would know.

“It’s okay that you bit me.” Stiles says. “It’s fitting, actually. It kind of feels like payback.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I know.” Stiles admits. “But it’s kind of like justice, you know. Like I paid my debt now.”

Scott feels his heart break. “Did you only stick around because you felt guilty?” He asks. He needs to know.

Stiles shakes his head. “No, Scott. God, no. I stayed because I love you. You’re…” Stiles stops, scrambling for the words. “You’re my brother.” _Coward._ “But dude, I want out. I don’t want to live like this for the rest of my life.” Stiles confesses. And now that Scott bit him, well, they’re kind of even. He’ll have to make his own path, just like Scott did, only he doesn’t want to do it here and he doesn’t have to feel guilty for saying that.

Scott takes a deep breath, ignoring the wetness gathering in Derek’s eyes. “Me neither. But man, you can’t kill yourself.”

“Whoa, dude, I’m not – Is that what you thought?” Thinking back, Stiles can see why Scott thought it was headed that way. “No, you know how I squeamish I am.” He says. He’d never do that to his dad either.

“So what then?” Scott asks, confused.

Stiles hesitates, not sure the real answer’s going to make Scott feel all that much better. “I think I might leave the whole supernatural stuff to you guys. Transfer schools.” Stiles says. “Do the normal teenager thing.”

Scott feels a pain inside Derek’s chest, like his heart’s breaking – a sure sign that Scott really is in control of what happens with the alpha’s body. “You can’t be a normal teenager.” Scott says. “You saw what happened with me.”

Stiles snorts. “Yeah well, you’re not gonna go on a crazy murder spree and try to get me to kill my friends.”

Scott frowns and Stiles knows he shouldn’t joke like that, because it wasn’t funny then and it’s not funny now.

“Scott, that’s different.” Stiles says, shifting into more serious drive. “You’re different. You’re like a lycanthropic Harry Potter.” Stiles says, and Scott’s eyes widen like he finds that surprising. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t know. You’re special, dude. You’re gonna take all this werewolf stuff and you’re gonna turn it into something amazing.”

Scott hates that Stiles is talking like he’s not going to be there for it. “You could too, you know.” Scott says.

Stiles doesn’t argue that point because hell, maybe Scott’s right. Maybe they could both revolutionize werewolfdom, but - “I don’t want to.” Stiles admits. “I know I always complained that this town was boring, but Scott, I miss it. I miss talking to my dad. I miss worrying about grades and whether Lydia even knows my name or not. I miss playing video games together. I miss…” His mom, Heather, everything. “I miss not worrying about all my friends dying.” He doesn’t want Scott to die, and he keeps sticking around to try to prevent it, but he knows that eventually he’s not going to succeed, and then he’ll be stuck with that memory burned into his brain forever. “I thought nothing would ever make me turn my back on you, but Scott, this is my out.” Stiles says urgently. “This is where I’m drawing the line. I just got bitten, I’m a _werewolf._ My chance at normal is shot. I need to get out now before I end up dead or worse _._ ”

Scott sniffs, trying to hold back tears and failing. “Are you sure?” He asks, hoping to everything in the universe that Stiles says no.

“Yeah, Scott.” Stiles says. “God, I’m so sorry.”

Scott shakes his head, trying to stop looking so devastated. He needs to be strong. “You’re gonna have to learn to control it.” He says, wiping at Derek’s eyes. God, he’s ruined everything. He’s fucked this up and now Stiles is leaving. Stiles is his brother too. He’s his family, his everything. Scott doesn’t want to lose him, but he guesses he will one way or another and it’s better for Stiles to be alive and intact.

“I will.” Stiles promises. “I might need some help with it.”

“You can call me any time.” Scott assures him, clinging onto that possibility like a lifeline. “Or Derek. Or anyone. I’ll make sure they help.”

Stiles nods, and he’s not crying quite yet, but his eyes are definitely moist. “I still have to get my stuff.” He says, after a moment.

Scott lets out a shuddering breath and nods. “Do you want to come up and get it?” He asks.

Stiles considers it. The idea makes him feel claustrophobic, panicky. He’s worried that if he goes up, his resolve will crumble and then he won’t come back down again. But he needs to go up. This is his goodbye. He’s _leaving._ He’s doing the one thing he swore he’d never, ever do.

 _‘Fuck’_ He thinks.

The trip up to the loft is silent. Everyone else is still asleep and they don’t stir when Stiles gathers his things. He pauses on his way to his suitcase, staring at the pile of papers scattered over the floor by the worktable.

“What are all these?” Stiles asks, looking at the papers. It’s the first time either of them has spoken since they got up here.

Scott coughs, clearing Derek’s throat. “I don’t know. You drew them last night.” Scott explains. Derek’s voice sounds pained and choked. “We were gonna try to figure them out when you woke up.”

Stiles stares at the sketches, his fingers itching. His brain’s urging him to pick them up and it’s so hard to resist. But he has to. If he’s pulling himself out of this, he’s doing it properly. He can’t leave any room for doubt or hope.

“Yeah, well, good luck with that.” Stiles mutters. It’s harsh and Scott flinches. Stiles wants to apologize, but he shakes his head and stomps over to his bag. He should be feeling victorious. His anger should be soothed, but instead he just feels sadder and angrier. This whole situation’s a load of crap and he needs to get out of here. He needs to stop feeling bad for Scott when he’s the one who did this to Stiles in the first place.

Stiles sticks to that thought. He doesn’t allow himself to look at this any other way. He’s been trying to let Scott down easy, and he thinks that’s as kind as he can get at the moment. He doesn’t actually say goodbye. He doesn’t say anything, he just grabs the keys to his jeep, grips his bag and steps into the elevator. He presses the down button and gives a short nod to Scott as the doors close, leaving the werewolf looking torn and devastated. It’s Derek’s face that Stiles has to look at when he leaves and that’s probably what makes all of this a bit easier. It makes it more frustrating too, because he doesn’t even get to remember Scott as Scott.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

**Word of the Day: June 4 th**

**Dolorous _(adjective)_**

**Definition: Feeling or expressing great sorrow or distress.**

Scott stands in the loft, at a loss for what to do. Stiles is gone.

Scott runs a hand up through Derek’s hair and sniffles, wet tracks slipping down Derek’s face and clinging to his growing beard. He feels pathetic. It makes him feel like an asshole for thinking that he hadn’t messed everything up so badly. Of course he had. He’d violated Stiles. He’d ruined his life.

Scott tries to pull himself together. He’s being selfish. He can’t make this about him. He’s wrong, not the one wronged, and he can’t adopt this like it’s his problem, not when there’s so much else going on.

Struggling to keep himself together he paces across the floor, passing Isaac and Derek who are asleep on the couch and going over to the work table. He bends down, collecting the sketches Stiles did last night. He sets them hastily in a pile, not bothering to study the bizarre scratches and scribbles. He coughs, trying to clear the lump out of his throat and largely failing.

He watches the motion of Derek’s large white hands as he moves them, picking up the drawings. He misses his body. He misses his mom too and he finds himself feeling unbearably homesick, wishing he could shield himself in his mom’s embrace. He misses Allison as well. He tries hard not to think about her usually, but whenever things get stressful, he finds himself reaching out for her instinctively. The tattoo was supposed to help with that, but he doesn’t even have that now.  

Thinking of Allison reminds him that the Argents will be here soon. He doesn’t know exactly when – it’s not like they’re going to warn him before they show up – but he knows it will be soon. If not this morning then sometime today. Scott isn’t sure if he has the right to be scared, but he is. He’s scared and lonely and distraught and he’s only seventeen years old. He barely had a handle on things before the alpha pack showed up and his situation certainly hasn’t improved since. In fact, it’s gotten worse, and the people he can go to for support are steadily disappearing from his life. Stiles’ loss is the most painful though. Stiles chose to leave him, and Scott never thought it would come to that.

He feels like he’s losing his soul mate. Hell, he thinks he probably is.

Scott looks down and sees Derek’s arms trembling. He drops the papers he’s holding and stands up, taking shaky steps toward the bedroom.

“Derek?” Isaac asks, voice groggy as he peeks up at him.

Derek’s more awake. Scott can see his own brown orbs reflecting back at him, wide and questioning.

“Where’s Stiles?” Derek asks, moving Scott’s lips to a voice that’s hoarse and edgy.

“He left.” Scott says weakly. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. It’s going to come out sooner or later, so he should probably just be up front. “For good.”

Isaac’s head snaps up at that. “What?” He asks.

“Stiles-” Scott has to stop himself because he’s so close to breaking down. He clears Derek’s throat and starts again. “Stiles doesn’t want to be involved with the pack anymore. And he left.” He explains, and it sound so surreal coming out of his mouth. It’s not something he’d ever thought he’d have to say.

Isaac exchanges a shocked look with Derek. “Scott?” He asks, trying to get the other wolf to clarify.

Derek shakes Scott’s head, mouth opening and working silently as he studies Scott.

Scott can’t contain the broken noise that slips past his lips and he turns quickly, retreating to the bedroom. It’s about a minute before Derek gets up and follows him, shutting the door behind him and sitting next to Scott on the bed.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Halfway into his trip, Stiles has to pull the jeep over. He stops on the side of the road with his head against the steering wheel, taking in deep breaths and trying to calm himself down. By the time he gets his bearings and gets home, his dad’s up, standing in the kitchen in his uniform and making coffee. Or maybe he was up all night and he’s just getting home. Stiles honestly doesn’t know anymore. He watches his dad from the doorway, feeling a lifetime of separation between them.

“I’m home.” Stiles says, drawing his dad’s attention.

The sheriff nods sharply. He’s mad. Stiles figured he would be.

“You could’ve called.” The sheriff points out, gesturing at the letter on the counter. Stiles had been so stressed the day before that he’d only scribbled a hasty note, telling his dad he was spending the night at Scott’s. He really hopes Mrs. McCall covered for him.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Stiles says.

The sheriff turns around, staring at his son. He studies him for a moment, taking in the drained expression on his face. “Stiles, I know things are tough right now. But kid, you can’t up and disappear like that. You want to spend the night at Scott’s, fine, but you need to talk to me first. You don’t just leave.”

Stiles nods. “I know. I’m sorry.” He says. He doesn’t argue. He’s going to fix things between them and that means doing this right. “Look, um, dad…” Stiles chews his cheek, looking away for a moment. “Scott and I, um…”

The sheriff leans forward, watching his son with concern.

“We, uh…” Stiles is nervous and he lets out a heavy breath.

“Stiles, are you coming out?” Sheriff Stilinski asks, deadly serious.

Stiles looks up sharply.

“I know you like guys.” The sheriff says. “I don’t care.”

Stiles gapes. “What?” He asks. He really wasn’t intending on bringing the whole bisexual thing up this early in the morning. Especially on a day like this.

“I borrowed your laptop.” The sheriff explains. “And I accidentally stumbled across your porn stash.”

At least his father found the porn and not the werewolf stuff. Granted, Stiles went to more lengths to hide the latter.

“It’s fine by me, son.” Stiles’ dad says. “If you’re dating Scott, that’s okay too.”

“I’m not.” Stiles says, fighting back the blush on his face. “It’s kind of the opposite actually.”

The sheriff frowns. “You guys get into a fight?” He asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “Worse.” He says. He’s been fighting off the tears all morning but they finally start coming. His dad leads him over to the dining table and has him sit down. Stiles presses his face into his hands, taking shaky inhales.

“Did Scott hurt you?”

Stiles almost shakes his head. He aborts the motion, turning it into a nod before stopping altogether. “Kind of.” He confesses, moving his hands so that they rest against his forehead. He stares down at the table, watching his father’s reflection in the glossy surface. “It wasn’t anything bad, not really. We just…I need to stay away from him for a while.” He says.

The sheriff looks pissed and confused. The former is aimed at Scott and the latter is aimed at Stiles. “You guys have been friends for a long time, Stiles. He must’ve done something pretty bad.”

He did, but Stiles can’t say anything about it. He decides to come up with something like the truth.

“He, um. A while ago, back in January, we got caught up in something. I can’t tell you what,” Stiles says, clenching his hands together and dropping them to the table top. He should really just shut up but he’s got to come clean, that’s what all of this is about - making a fresh start, coming clean, fixing things. “But it was pretty bad. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, though, and then…” Stiles trails off, shrugging.

“Stiles.” The eldest Stilinski says, looking at his son seriously. “I’ve been waiting for this explanation for a while now, but before you keep going, you gotta make sure you’re not telling my something I can’t ignore. I’m your dad, but I’m also the sheriff.”

Stiles looks up at his dad, realizing just how sheltered he’s been for the last year. They were all thinking the sheriff was just oblivious or didn’t have enough information to go on, but now Stiles is starting to suspect there’s more to it. His dad’s been _protecting_ him.

“It’s not as bad as you’re probably thinking.” Stiles says. “I mean, we weren’t really hurting anyone.”

Stiles’ dad looks at him sadly. “I’m sure you didn’t, kiddo.” He says. “But it went too far, didn’t it?” The sheriff asks.

Stiles bows his head. “God, yeah.” He says. He shouldn’t be talking to his father like this. He’s pretty sure he’s only going to make everything worse, but he needs to fix at least one of his broken relationships.

“Are you in danger?” The sheriff asks.

“What? No. No!” Stiles says. He isn’t. At least not from anything his dad can fight against. “I just had to walk away.”

The sheriff nods. There’s a moment of silence and then Stiles’ dad clears his throat. “What are you going to do about school?” He asks. “Scott’s gonna be there.”

Stiles sighs. “I was, um, hoping I could transfer?”

Stiles’ dad only shows his surprise for a second before he manages to school his features back into an understanding expression. It’s so quick, Stiles almost doesn’t notice it. “That bad?” The sheriff asks, tone steady and careful. “I’ll call you in sick today and we can do some paperwork later, if you want?” The eldest Stilinski offers, testing his son’s sincerity.

Stiles looks at his dad gratefully. “I can get the registration forms online and fill them out. I’ll just need your signature.”

Stiles’ dad looks at him, unimpressed. “Well, you can wait until I get home, but I won’t question it if my signature shows up before then.”

Stiles has faked his dad’s writing before plenty, so it won’t be much trouble. He smiles softly and his dad rustles his hair.

“I gotta go to work, kiddo.” The sheriff pauses, giving him a thoughtful look, then leans down, bundling him up in a much-needed hug. Stiles relishes the moment, wrapping his arms around his father. “I’m proud of you.” The eldest Stilinski says, kissing Stiles’ head. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re doing a brave thing.”

Stiles flashes back to his dad calling him a hero after the lacrosse game. He believed his dad then. Now? Not so much. The brave thing would be sticking it out. He’s not doing the brave thing, he’s escaping. He’s a coward.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Contrary to popular belief, Derek’s not totally socially inept and he actually does know how to hug. He’s more comfortable with distance and/or anger, but he can certainly manage an embrace when someone looks like their whole world is falling apart. It’s unfortunate that the person he’s consoling happens to be in his body, which makes the whole thing just a touch more awkward as Scott sobs into his shoulder, but he sucks it up. It’s probably weird for Scott too. He’s crying the pain out against himself after all.

Derek doesn’t say it’s okay, because if it was, Scott wouldn’t be weeping. It’s clearly not okay, and Derek doesn’t know that it ever will be, so he doesn’t offer that up as a platitude either. Whatever this turns into, what it is currently is a shitty situation for someone he’s always viewed as a packbrother and the best thing he can do is let Scott react.

Part of him wants to save face and tell Scott to keep it down, because the rest of the pack’s outside and they can definitely hear this, but Derek cares too much about Scott to be that heartless. If everyone thinks Derek’s crying his eyes out over Stiles, then whatever, he can live with that. It would hardly be the worst blow to his reputation.

“S-sorry.” Scott manages to choke out between sobs.

“It’s okay to feel bad.” Derek says. It comes out a bit monotone, but he means it genuinely. He’s no stranger to tragedy or pain and he gets it. Sometimes you just have to cry stuff out, and sometimes things are still shit afterwards.

He pats a hand against his own back, feeling the muscles shake as Scott bawls. It’s not pretty-crying or masculine, dignified tears. It never really is when people break down. It’s the type of embarrassing, blotchy-faced, unpleasantly messy crying that pulls the pain out of every fiber in a person’s body. It hurts to listen to and it hurts worse to feel. Scott’s quivering and Derek holds him a bit tighter.

Scott keeps gulping, like he’s trying to get himself under control, but he just can’t. It’s been a long time since someone’s been this openly distraught around Derek. It’s a jarring experience, seeing someone in so much agony. It’s especially weird when he looks down and see himself, clinging desperately to another human being and wailing. Derek knows he’s cried like this before. He’s done it a lot, actually, but he never really got to see it. Now it’s in front of him in full Technicolor and it makes him flashback to after the fire, when he clung to Laura and sobbed.

Scott slips in his hold and Derek gets to experience the feeling of his own face pressed against his upper arm. He feels scruff poke through the fabric of Scott’s shirt. His facial hair is on its way past the really itchy, growing-in phase, and Derek thinks he probably won’t shave after they switch back. It’s a pain to do anyway and the bristles are so coarse that they always scratch too much when they push back out of the skin. He figures he’ll just grow a beard and be done with it.

Laura used to tease him for looking like a lumberjack. He expects the rest of the pack will too, but he’ll just avoid anything flannel or plaid and give them the stink eye if they bug him too much.

Scott’s facial hair is fortunately less fruitful. He’s not nearly as hairy as Derek, and there’s no prickle or itch around his jawline, so if the scruff is growing, Derek can’t feel it there. He can feel it on his upper lip though, so he expects Scott’s more likely to sprout a mustache than a beard. Derek can’t imagine that’s a good look and he’s not surprised Scott hasn’t grown it out yet. He thinks he’ll let it come in just to see what it looks like. He might even style it, just to fuck with the guy, because he might feel compassion for Scott, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun at his expense.

Scott’s grip on Derek relaxes as the wolf starts to calm down marginally and Derek floods with relief. The hold was pretty painful and his arms were starting to tingle. He doesn’t shift, even when he’s tempted to rub the fading bruises left in Scott’s wake. He holds the wolf steady, staring at the wall over his shoulder and listening to the hiccupping swallows of air Scott takes.

Derek lifts a hand, rubbing tan fingers over black tendrils of hair. The gel that Derek usually uses is gone, so his hair’s a soft, tangled, oily mess. He smells rich too, and he thinks he should try to get Scott into a shower when the wolf’s finally relaxed.

Surprisingly, Scott doesn’t shift away from the gentle touches Derek offers. It was a surprise when he didn’t push away from the hug either, and Derek wonders if he’s just that distressed or if maybe the trust between them is growing. It’s probably a mix of both with a dash of No Other Option, because now that Stiles is gone, Scott really doesn’t have anyone else to turn to. Even if Allison didn’t think Scott was currently Derek, the post-breakup tension would likely make a situation like this too awkward. And of course, Scott can’t go to his mom.

Derek thinks about the gentle kiss Mrs. McCall laid on his forehead the other day. He thinks about his own mom. He’s forgotten what her kisses feel like, but he knows he could certainly use them from time to time. It’s torture to not be able to turn to someone you love for comfort. It’s gut-wrenching when the reason is that they’re dead, but it’s probably just as horrible to have them alive and totally unaware of you. Derek feels another wave of sympathy for Scott. He once again hits up against the fact that right now he’s really it for Scott in terms of support. He’s not sure if Deaton can be trusted, and unless they tell the rest of the pack about the switcheroo – a notion that Derek’s leaning more in favor of – Scott’s pretty much isolated. Derek is too, but somehow he thinks he’s coping better.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles doesn’t break down after his dad leaves. He should. He wants to, but he’s feeling too much of a mix of numb and antsy to be properly distraught. He fills out the registration forms, forges his dad’s signature, and then starts unpacking. He pulls out the case files, flipping through them.

He hadn’t been entirely honest with Scott about his motivations. He hadn’t lied necessarily – he does want out, but he’s wanted out for a while and that hasn’t stopped him. The more important thing is that he needs to get away from Scott and the pack. He can’t be around any of them, especially Scott, as long as the alpha pack’s around. He can’t get himself involved in that, not if he wants to solve these murders.

Stiles looks over the files, sighing. All three victims were from the same school - the school Stiles is going to be transferring to, if it all works out. That’s really all he’s got to go on so far. It’s the only connection, and he might have just thrown his friendship away on a gamble, but he’s taking it.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Scott pulls away after a while, wiping a frustrated hand over his face. He doesn’t look at Derek. He feels embarrassed and ashamed for breaking down like that. He has no right to, as far as he’s concerned.

Scott coughs, clearing Derek’s throat. “You should go to school.” He says quietly.

“There’s still plenty of time.” Derek points out.

Scott sighs, standing up from the bed and rubbing his forehead. He pulls Derek’s phone off the nightstand, flipping it open to look at the clock. He frowns, staring at the missed calls alert. “Why does your phone company keep calling?” He asks. They’ve phoned about four times. He looks up at Derek, who tenses. Scott sees his face twists into a closed off expression and he watches the wolf carefully.

“They always do that. Just ignore them.” Derek says.

Scott nods. “What, uh, what phone company is it?” He asks.

“Verizon. AT&T. I don’t know.” Derek mutters.

“Why didn’t you just put the company name in?” Scott asks.

Derek looks at him incredulously. “I don’t know, Scott. My phone always breaks, it’s just easier to keep the contact and reprogram the number. Why’s it matter?”

Scott blinks, surprised. It wouldn’t matter, except Derek’s acting really weird about it. Scott lets it go, though. He doesn’t want to get into an argument after the morning he’s had. “Yeah, okay. Fine.” He mutters, pocketing the phone. There’s still about an hour left till school starts. It’s going to be a long morning. “We should head out.” Scott says, gesturing at the door.

“I’ll deal with the pack. You should go shower.” Derek says.

Scott feels self-conscious, wondering if he smells that bad, but he thinks Derek’s doing him a kindness. There’s no doubt his face is all blotchy and tear-stained and he could use a few minutes under the water.

They leave the room and Scott ducks down, shielding his face and going to the bathroom. When he looks in the mirror, Derek’s face is red and puffy. Scott sniffs, turning away from the looking glass and trying to occupy himself on getting clean. He blushes when he realizes he’s about to get naked. And soapy. And he’s definitely going to have to touch areas of Derek that he never even thought about before yesterday. God, he hopes Derek has a loofah or something, because he’s not sure how he’d feel about having to go the hands-on route when it comes body wash time.

Scott turns on the showerhead and starts getting undressed.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Derek steps out into the living room, where the pack is waiting anxiously. Cora’s hovering close by, as near to the bedroom as she can get, and she takes a step forward when Scott passes, heading off to the restroom.

Derek shakes his head and Cora pauses, jaw clenching.

“What’s wrong with him?” She asks protectively.

Derek feels his chest squeeze tight. He looks into her concerned face and all he wants to do is ask where she’s been for the last six years. This is his baby sister. This is his _family_ and all he’s wanted to do since she got back is talk to her. Derek controls the urge though. “He’s just a little upset right now.” Derek says.

“Over that beta?” Cora questions, bewildered. “Why?”

This is a harder question to answer, and Derek’s not sure what to say. “They were close.” He mutters.

“Since when?” Boyd says. “Last I checked, they hated each other.”

“A lot changes in four months.” Derek points out. It’s a low blow and Boyd clams up immediately.

“Okay, no.” Isaac protests, and he’s got this look on his face like he’s sick of this. Of what, Derek’s not sure, but he’s seen that expression before and he groans internally. Isaac’s officially reached his limit and he’s demanding some answers. “Derek didn’t see Stiles this whole summer. I was there, I know. We were busy looking for Boyd and Erica. Now suddenly Stiles and Derek are the best of friends and you couldn’t care less that Stiles just left? It’s like you two switched places or something.”

Derek widens Scott’s eyes. Everyone’s waiting expectantly for an explanation, except Peter, who’s just smirking.

“Scott, what’s going on?” Boyd asks.

Derek opens Scott’s mouth, trying to work out some sort of inspired deception, but he can’t seem to think of anything. He’s panicking, about to let it all spill out into the open, when Peter speaks up.

“I think you’ll all find that the explanation really is very simple.” Peter sneers.

Derek knows this isn’t going to go well, but he can’t stop it. It’s like waiting for a train wreck.

Everyone turns to Peter, waiting, and the eldest Hale huffs. “Oh surely those hormone-ridden little minds of yours can think up a reason for Derek’s sudden change of heart?”

The betas frowns, sharing confused expressions.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Do I really have to spell it out for you? Two people with a fiery, passionate hatred are thrown together in life-altering situations. Forced to work together, they slowly begin to bond. Months later, you find one distraught and heartbroken at the other’s loss. Unless I’ve seriously overestimated your collective mental prowess, I’m guessing you can all fill in the blank.”

Boyd’s mouth drops in shock. “They’re…?”

“In love, yes.” Peter says.

Derek fumes. He’s going to kill Peter.

“Oh.” Isaac mutters, not looking nearly as surprised as he should. Everyone turns to him, questioning. “Well, it’s just…I kind of walked in on something yesterday.”

Derek glares at him, suspicious. “What?” He asks, Scott’s voice coming out low and warning.

“It was nothing.” Isaac mutters, face red. “Stiles was sort of on Derek’s lap.”

Derek’s going to kill everyone.

“Wow.” Boyd mutters. Cora’s silent beside him, looking at a loss for what to do with herself. “Scott, did you know about this?” Boyd asks.

Derek falters, not sure what to say. “Um…yeah. Yeah, I did.” He says.

“How long have they been…you know?” Boyd asks, too embarrassed to complete the sentence. Fricken teenagers.

“A little over a month.” Derek says, surprised by how easily the lie slips out. “They’ve been meeting in secret.”

Silence reigns over the room as the information sinks in.

“Well, I think this is a good time for me to leave.” Peter says, breaking the quiet. “It’s been an interesting morning. Tell Derek I’ll come back later.” Peter says, winking at Derek and going toward the elevator.

Derek’s left facing his betas and it’s indescribably awkward.

“Are you okay?” Isaac asks, looking at him hesitantly. “I mean, Stiles is your best friend.”

Derek purses Scott’s lips, thinking. “It’s for the best.” He says. He doesn’t believe it for a second, just like he doesn’t believe Stiles is actually going to stay gone – in fact, he’s pretty sure Stiles is up to something – but it won’t do for everyone to dwell on the situation. They’ve got bigger stuff to focus on. “You should get ready for school. Derek said I could borrow his car.” He throws that in as a last addition, because it’s his car and he doesn’t plan on walking all over town. He still needs to go the McCall residence and get Scott’s backpack.

“No way.” Isaac says. Derek never lets anyone drive his car.

Derek smirks. “If you hurry up, I might even give you a ride.”

“Me too?” Boyd asks.

Derek raises Scott’s eyebrows.

“I need to see my grandma. Let her know I’m okay.” Boyd explains.

Derek nods and the male betas hurry up the staircase. There’s another bathroom up in the second floor of the loft and he can hear them grumbling about who’s going to go first.

When it’s down to just him and Cora, Derek suddenly finds himself pushed up against the wall with an angry Hale glaring at him. “What the fuck’s going on?” She snarls.

Derek’s first instinct is to tell her to watch her language. “What do you mean?” He asks instead. He doesn’t fight her hold. He’s not even entirely sure if he can break it.

“Derek’s dating Stiles? That _kid_?” Cora growls. “You expect me to believe that?”

Derek shrugs, trying to contain his discomfort. His sister’s actually pretty intimidating. “I don’t care what you believe. It’s the truth.” He tries not to give away the lie. He’s been practicing control for years, so it shouldn’t be too hard. Cora’s a born werewolf though, so she can detect even the smallest whiff of deception. Especially when she’s looking for it.

Cora leans in close, eyes flashing. “Even if I couldn’t smell that you’re lying, I know my brother. He wouldn’t do that.”

“You haven’t seen him in six years. How would you know?” Derek counters, unable to contain his own anger.

“Because I know what happened to him when he was sixteen!” Cora snaps.

To anyone else in the pack, it would be a vague, mysterious statement, but Derek feels his heart constrict. “You can’t know about that.” He whispers. There’s no way.

Cora glares. “No, _you_ can’t know about that. So why don’t you tell me who the hell you are and what the fuck’s going on?”

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles drops his papers off at Eastridge, the other Beacon Hills high school. The secretary’s nice and the school seems pleasant and clean. They’ll process his paperwork quickly and he should be able to start on Monday. Stiles’ heart breaks a little. He pauses on his way out of the building, standing in front of the memorial for the deceased Eastridge students. It takes herculean effort to break his eyes away from Heather’s smiling visage, and afterwards his ears ring with echoes of childhood laughter.

The connection is missing when he sees Emily and the lifeguard. They’re just faces to him. People he never knew. Their names are scrawled on the bottom of their school photos, with cards and messages left beside them.

Brady. The lifeguard’s name was Brady.

“Did you know any of them?” A voice speaks up beside him. He looks over, finding a tall, brown-haired guy. He looks intense and muscular, and Stiles sniffs, wondering if this dude’s something other than human. He comes up with Axe and armpit and nothing out of the ordinary.

“Heather.” Stiles replies.

The guy nods. “Brady.” He says. “He was a buddy of mine. Our best lacrosse player too.”

“What number?” Stiles asks.

“44.”

Stiles nods. He had a few run-ins with the guy out on the field. He can still feel the sting of being slammed back onto the ground.

“My name’s Greg.” The guy introduces.

“Stiles.”

Greg’s eyebrows raise. “Cool name, bro.”

It’s not the first time someone’s said that to Stiles, but it’s the first time it feels genuine. “Thanks.” He mutters, staring at Heather’s picture. His eyes keep getting drawn back there.

“You a new student?”

“I, uh, just registered.” Stiles replies. “How’d you know-?”

“That you didn’t go here?” Greg finishes. “I’ve been kind of making it my business lately to know everyone at this school.” Greg says, gesturing at the other pictures. “It sucks, you know, knowing someone died and only knowing their face from a crappy school photo. I pass all these people crying and mourning in the hallway and I can’t even say ‘I remember them. They were a good person.’ They walked through these hallways, same as me. Hell, I probably passed them every day and I never even noticed.” Greg pauses, shaking himself out of his thoughts and giving Stiles a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I get it.” Stiles says. Stiles really does get it, more than Greg could possibly know. “I’m sorry about Brady.” He says. “I heard how they found him.” He’s feeling now, for information. Greg doesn’t seem to notice.

Greg nods, jaw clenching. “It was pretty messed up.” He says.

“Was he a lifeguard for very long?” Stiles asks.

“Brady?” Greg asks, frowning. “Honestly, I didn’t even know he could swim.” He mutters. “Hey man, it was nice meeting you.” He says abruptly, giving Stiles a friendly pat on the arm. “But I gotta head to class. You know when you start yet?”

“Monday.” Stiles offers, a little thrown by the change in subject.

“Come say ‘hi’. I can show you around or something.” Greg says, walking away and Stiles sighs, staring at the memorial again. “Wait, Stiles?” Greg suddenly says. Stiles looks over and sees the guy paused halfway down the corridor, looking at him curiously. “Is that short for something?”

“Uh, Stilinski. It’s my last name.” Stiles offers.

“Stilinski. Number 24, Beacon Hills High lacrosse team? That Stilinski?” Greg asks.

Stiles stares at him in surprise. “Uh, yeah.” He mutters, too amazed to make a comment about how stalkery that sounds.

“I thought I recognized you. Man, I saw you win that game last year.” Greg replies. “You need to try out, dude.”

“Lacrosse season doesn’t start till winter.” Stiles points out.

“We practice year round, bro. It’s the only way to win.” Greg says. “Seriously, Monday. You come find me.”

Greg races off and Stiles is left standing shocked in the hallway.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

“Body swap?” Cora mutters, staring at the two wolves in front of her.

Scott’s dripping wet from a hastily aborted shower. He’d been hesitantly reaching for Derek’s little soldier with the shower pouf Derek fortunately owns when he’d heard a tussle from outside.

It took a few minutes to calm Cora down and then they’d managed to explain the situation to her in whispered conversation.

“Yes.” Scott says, hoping she believes them.

Cora shakes her head. She looks at Scott’s body, eyeing the wolf suspiciously. “What was our mom’s name?”

“Talia.” Derek says.

Cora doesn’t miss the surprised look on Scott’s face. Cora continues, asking about different family members. Derek gets all of the answers right while Scott just looks on in confusion. Cora should be satisfied, but she still asks the big question.

“What happened when Derek was 16?” She asks.

Derek swallows and Scott watches his throat bob. He doesn’t say anything, his jaw clenching and his eyes turning hard.

“The Hale fire.” Scott offers.

“I want to hear my brother say it.” Cora says, pointedly. She knows they’re not lying. She knows it’s a body swap, but she still wants to hear the answer.

“Don’t.” Derek says, half-pleading.

“I’ve been waiting six years.” Cora says. “Say it.”

Derek lets out a huff of irritation. “Fine.” He snaps. He clenches Scott’s fists at his sides and finally grits out the secret he’s been carrying for six years. The secret Cora apparently knows. “Kate Argent burned our family to death because I led her right to us. We…” Derek stops, looking away.

“You had a relationship with a hunter.” Cora states, finishing for him.

Derek nods Scott’s head slowly.

The silence is deadly after that. Scott stares at Derek with widened eyes, trying to fit those puzzle pieces together. “But Kate would’ve been…” He mutters, trying to figure out the age difference.

“Tell Boyd and Isaac that I’ll be waiting outside.” Derek says, pushing past both of them and stomping out of the loft.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, don't worry, Stiles and Scott will make up. But I felt like they needed some time apart and I read once that they were supposed to have a falling out in season 3A.


	9. Pawshank Redemption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the chapter count went up again, but I swear this is the last time. I just realized how much more plot I had, but I really don't see me needing more that 13 chapters to finish this thing. We're pretty close to the end. I just keep finding it necessary to cut chapters in half.
> 
> Cover Art done by the fabulous blackbirdrose

** Chapter 8; Pawshank Redemption: **

_Deucalion sits at his desk, resting his fingertips together as he thinks. The noise around their makeshift living space is, as always, grating and he struggles to keep his temper. The twins are playing video games, growling at each other and slamming on the buttons. Aiden’s in an ill-temper, still grumbling about Stiles. Aiden’s eye had been pretty severely damaged from the pencil and he’d been temporarily blinded. He hadn’t taken to it well and Deucalion expects he’ll be harder to control._  

_Ennis and Kali were supposed to be sorting supplies, but they’ve started fighting instead._

_Deucalion sighs, rubbing at his temples. “The eclipse is only a week away.” He states, drawing all of their attention._

_“You starting to doubt us, Duke?” Kali asks._

_Deucalion breathes in deep. “Can you think of a reason why I shouldn’t?”_

_“We’ve searched this podunk inside and out.” Ennis points out. “Maybe we’re not the problem.”_

_“Meaning?” Deucalion asks._

_“Meaning.” Ennis says, stomping forward and leaning over the desk. “Maybe **you** made a mistake.” _

_Deucalion’s hand flies up, gripping Ennis roughly around his jaw. Duke’s claws come out, prickling warningly at Ennis’ skin as the alpha cuts off his airflow. “Perhaps my only mistake was not killing you when I had the chance.” Duke says. Ennis can’t move or fight the hold and Duke relishes it for a moment longer before releasing his pack member. “It’s here. You just have to try harder.” He says._

_Ennis scrambles away, coming to stand next to Kali again. She steps in front of him protectively, glaring at Deucalion._

_“Isaac and Stiles don’t know anything.” Ethan says, initiating a pack meeting._

_“Boyd and Erica were useless.” Aiden grumbles._

_Deucalion hums. “Oh I wouldn’t say that.” He says. “Boyd’s observant. Resourceful. He may just prove useful.”_  

_“And the girl?” Kali asks._

_Deucalion grins softly. “Yes, Cora Hale.” He says fondly. “Our little anomaly. Follow her.”_

_There’s a hesitant pause._

_“What about the true alpha?” Kali asks finally, voice tentative._

_“Leave him for now.” Duke orders. “We don’t want him discovering his powers too soon.”_

_Footsteps echo far down the hallway._

_“Our guest has arrived.” Duke announces._

  _Nobody does anything._

_“Well, open the door.” Duke prompts. He listens to the cadence of footfalls coming closer - their rhythm confident and steady. The door opens and he turns to greet the visitor. “I was expecting you sooner.”_

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles exits Eastridge and calls Allison. He stares ahead at his jeep, which looks just as uncomfortable and out of place as he feels in the Eastridge environment, and listens to the phone ring.

“Stiles?” Allison says.

“Yeah, I’m alive. Which means, you know…” Stiles sighs. He can’t even say it. “Look, don’t kill Derek. Believe me, you’ll regret it.” He says.

“Is that threat?” Allison asks.

“No, Allison. I just mean…he’s not a bad guy.”

He hears Allison let out a breath. “Stiles, he broke the code.”

“So?” Stiles says. “Make a new code.” He urges quietly, aware that he’s in public. “Aren’t you like the Argent matriarch now? Start matriarching.”

“That’s not a word.”

“I know.” Stiles snaps. “You know what I mean. If you kill Derek there’s just gonna be more bloodshed.” Stiles knows because he’s going to be the one to start it. “And the alphas will definitely slaughter us.” ‘ _Them’_ he mentally corrects. The alphas will slaughter the pack and he’s no longer in the pack. “Can’t you just ground him or something?”

“Ground him?” Allison echoes. “You’re kidding right?”

“Well you don’t have to ground him.” Stiles says. “Just, keep him under surveillance. I don’t know, get creative. Just don’t kill him.”

“You’re really defending him? After what he did to you?”

“Yeah, and I’ll keep defending him, even if it means getting in between him and a mountain ash bullet.” Stiles says.

Allison exhales roughly. “Okay.” She relents. “I’ll talk to my dad. But this can’t happen again.”

“It won’t.” Stiles says, praying that he’s right. “Oh, and could you do me a favour and not mention this phonecall to Derek? I’m kind of not speaking to him at the moment. Or anyone. I left the pack. And transferred schools.”

“…seriously?” Allison asks.

“Yeah. It’s kind of my punishment for him.” Stiles replies.

“What about Scott?” Allison asks.

“He’ll be fine.” He mutters.

“Stiles, are you okay?” Allison asks.

“Honestly? No.” Stiles says. He probably shouldn’t be talking to her what with his whole leaving the pack thing, but fuck, he’s not going to stick to that. He knows he’s not going to stick to it and he never really intended to. He just knows he needs to fix things with his dad first and get on steadier ground. He needs to find a balance with all of this. “Why? Are you?” He asks.

Allison huffs out a humorless laugh. “Not really.” She admits. “Listen, I get it, Stiles. I ran off to France. And it was…good? But…”

“It didn’t change anything, did it?” Stiles says.

“No, it doesn’t. I wish it did. But it doesn’t.”

Stiles leans against the door to his jeep, staring down at the pavement. “Yeah, I figured.” He mutters. “Thanks, for yesterday. And for being honest.” It’s nice to talk to her like this. He misses Allison. They never talked much when she and Scott were dating, but when they did, he’d enjoyed it. He regrets that he never made an effort to know her better.

“What are friends for?” Allison says.

Friends. They’re friends, and Stiles feels the tightness in his chest loosen just a bit. “Yeah.”

“I have to get ready for school. But, Stiles? Call me. I mean it. It doesn’t have to mean anything, but just don’t cut me out.”

Stiles recognizes the pleading tone in her voice. She’s lonely. He realizes that she’s more disconnected from the pack than he is. She has been for months. Jackson’s gone, her mother’s dead, and things with Scott are too awkward after the breakup. All she has is Lydia and her father, and Stiles has seen the strain between the Argents. It reminds him of him and his dad.

“I won’t.” Stiles promises. He’s surprised by just how much he means it. It’s a bone-deep determination that he’s not going to let Allison sit on the sidelines, feeling left out and isolated.

“Good.” Allison says. “I’ll talk to you later?” She asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’ll call you or something.”

“Great.”

They hang up and Stiles looks up at Eastridge. He can’t tell if he’s making a fresh start or if he’s just trying to rewrite past wrongs. Whatever the answer, he feels more in-control than he has in ages and he can’t really decide if he likes it.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

“Do you, uh, want some breakfast?” Scott asks awkwardly. Cora doesn’t say anything, but she follows him when he goes into the kitchen. The entrance is down through a small corridor that turns off from the living room. It’s inconspicuous and looks like it leads to a walled-off area, but a slight turn reveals a sliding door that opens up into a surprisingly large kitchen unit. He’d have never found it if he hadn’t convinced Derek to give him a brief tour yesterday.

He walks across the tiled floor, skirting around the counter island and toward the pantry. Opening it reveals a freshly-stocked stratum of shelves. He studies the cereals, wondering which to pick. His natural inclination is to go for the sugary one, but after the ketchup incident, he’s a bit hesitant. Plus, the grown-up cereal would make him look more mature and Cora’s already watching his every move, so he feels like he ought to impress her.

His hand hovers, caught between the granola and the Cap’n Crunch. One says ‘I’m a sensible, bland person who can be trusted’ while the other screams ‘I’m a giant man-child trapped in your brother’s body and I saw you in a towel.’ On the other hand, only one of the boxes has a captain on it. And he is kind of the alpha, he rationalizes, which makes him captain of the loft. It could be a subtle way to assert his authority.

Scott glances over Derek’s shoulder, looking hesitantly back at Cora. She’s glaring. Scott huffs and grabs the sugary treat. Internally, it makes him feel like he’s making some sort of grand stand, when in reality he’s just choosing dessert for breakfast. Cora doesn’t seem too impressed.

“So…” Scott starts. “Do you have any plans for today?” He asks. He hopes she has plans, because it’s going to be seriously awkward if she just stays around the loft. Maybe he’ll make plans. He could…Well, he’s not sure what he could do. He has no idea what Derek does in his spare time, so he definitely can’t do that, and if he’s pretty tired of getting glared at en masse every time he wanders through town. It’s only been a day and he already feels like a hermit.

“Why? Do I need your permission?” Cora snaps.

Scott pauses in his quest for a bowl. “No. I’m not your brother.” And even if he was, she’s survived for six years without him. He’s pretty sure she can hold her own.

“No, you’re not.” Cora mutters, sounding almost disappointed. “So who are you?”

Scott finds the dishes and silverware and returns to the table with two bowls and spoons. He won’t make Cora eat, but he wants to at least encourage her. “I’m Scott. I got turned back in January.”

“Derek?” Cora asks. She pours herself some cereal and Scott feels encouraged.

“Peter.” Scott confesses.

“Peter?” Cora says, looking amused. “Peter’s not an alpha.”

“It’s kind of a long story.” Scott says.

“I’ve got time.”

Scott sighs. He launches into the whole story, stumbling over the murder of Laura. Cora doesn’t really react to that part, but Scott doesn’t miss the tinge of grief that spikes the air. By the time he’s done telling the tale, they’ve finished their meal and the bowls are sitting abandoned with murky, sugar-stained milk settled at the bottom.

“So how’d this happen?” Cora asks, gesturing at Derek’s body.

Scott shrugs. “No one really knows. We think it might be a spell.”

“An alpha pack and a witchcraft?” Cora says.

“Maybe. And human sacrifices. Or a serial killer. We’re not sure yet.”

“Huh.” Cora chews her lip, thinking. “This town’s a mess.” She concludes.

“Pretty much.”

Cora seems preoccupied and Scott looks at her curiously.

“What is it?” He asks.

Cora looks up at him and opens her mouth. She thinks better and shakes her head. “Nothing.” She murmurs.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Derek takes the SUV rather than the Camaro. He drops Boyd off at his grandmother’s and then heads to the McCall residence, with Isaac in tow. He has the beta wait down in the kitchen while he goes up to change. He hears footsteps in the second storey corridor and approaches the hallway cautiously, peering around the corner and almost ramming face-first into Mrs. McCall.

“Scott!” Melissa greets, surprised.

Derek stiffens, standing in front of her and working Scott’s lips uselessly. Mrs. McCall’s standing there, fresh from the shower. Her hair’s wrapped up in white Egyptian cotton, and a long beach towel covers her from her chest down to her calves. Derek tears his eye away from tan skin and dripping water to stare fixedly up at the ceiling. “Yeah, hi.” He says. “Mom.” He adds afterwards, cringing internally.

“How was the sleepover?” She asks conspiratorially. He’d told her he was staying at Derek’s loft for pack stuff, which he’s thankful for because he doesn’t think he’d be able to keep track of a lie in his current predicament.

“Good. Alright. Isaac’s downstairs.”

“Oh, I’ll go say hi.” She says, smiling.

“In that?” Derek asks, panicking.

Melissa gives him a pointed look. “After I change, Scott. Why? You worried he’ll start chasing after me?” She says, eyes twinkling mischievously. “That’s so sweet.” She clutches his chin, squeezing his cheeks like he’s a baby.

Derek pulls away, rubbing Scott’s face and glaring while Mrs. McCall laughs.

“I gotta get ready for work, sweetheart.” She says fondly. “I got another long shift again today. You’re gonna have to do the trash tonight.” She says apologetically.

Derek nods.

“Oh, and before I forget. Stiles’ dad called last night about your ‘sleepover with Stiles.’” She says. “I covered for you. _Again._ But honey, you gotta work out a better system. I don’t like all this lying. And he wanted to speak to Stiles this time, because he wasn’t answering his phone. Is Stiles alright?”

“Yeah, he’s fine.” Derek replies.

“Well, eventually he’s not gonna be and I’m gonna have a hell of a time explaining that one.” Melissa states. “Seriously, Scott, I’m worried. You’re gonna have to tell me what’s going on.”

“I will.” Derek says.

“Good.” Melissa gives him a pat on the cheek and steps away, moving down the hallway.

Derek stares at the space she occupied, wondering how long he can put off that particular conversation with Mrs. McCall. She’ll ask about his feelings. She’ll be concerned, and Derek can’t handle that. He hasn’t had any real sense of family since the Hale fire. Laura had tried, but his relationship with her had been so fractured by loss and guilt that every familial moment they shared felt like another betrayal. Derek learned long ago not to trust Peter. And whatever chance he had with Cora has been thoroughly annihilated.

When he changes, he goes back down to the kitchen. Isaac’s leaning against the counter, eating out of a box of Cookie Crisp.

“You shouldn’t eat that stuff.” Derek says. “It’s bad for you.”

Isaac smirks. He taps his finger on the front of the box, pointing at the mascot. “No, see, it’s got a wolf on the front.”

“And Lucky Charms has a leprechaun.” Derek points out.

“I know.” Isaac says, reaching behind him and pulling out a red box, “That’s why I left it for you.” He says, handing Derek the cereal. “Shimp.”

Derek glares, taking the box. “Very funny.” He snaps. He goes to the other side of the counter, pouring himself a bowl. “You give Trix to rabbits?” He mutters, grabbing the milk.

“No.” Isaac says. “Derek. Because he’s got those bunny teeth.” Isaac clicks a fingernail against his front incisors.

Derek narrows Scott’s eyes. He totally doesn’t have bunny teeth. He takes a bite of his breakfast, nose wrinkling a bit at the sweetness.

Mrs. McCall traipses into the kitchen, dressed in her scrubs. “Morning, Isaac.” She says, sending a disapproving look at the Cookie Crisp. She looks at Derek, who holds his hand up defensively.

“It wasn’t me.”

Isaac lobs a bit of crisp at him and Derek glares.

“Forgive me if I’m not that impressed.” Mrs. McCall says, gesturing to the Lucky Charms. Her objection is softened when she presses a gentle kiss to his hair. “I’ll let it slide. This time.” She says. “But _I’m_ doing the grocery shopping next week.” She warns.

Somehow Derek doubts that one is going to stick.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles goes to the community center. The parking lot’s fuller than it ought to be, given the circumstances, but nothing really attracts the morbid public quicker than a murder. Stiles remembers passing the mechanic shop after that guy got crushed by his jeep. For a week there were lines out the door; suddenly everyone in town was having car trouble.

Stiles parks at the church next door and makes his way across the street, stepping over pavement and breathing in the morning air. Ordinarily it would be crisp and energizing, but he catches too many odors that would normally go unnoticed by a human nose. Trash, chlorine, and urine kick up on a pollen-filled breeze, making his nose wrinkle, and he identifies the distinct aromas of pollution and car exhaust forming over a town he once thought of as clean.

Skirting around sleeping vehicles, he makes his way up to the center. It usually blends in to the background of the neighborhood, modest and unimposing, but the crime scene tape bordering the swimming area is garishly yellow against the white building and pine-lined backdrop, and the center stands out like a beacon. Visible past the tape are sickly brown stains, courtesy of the blood that dripped down the lifeguard stand and onto the tiles surrounding the pool. The scent prickles at his nose. It’s blood and something else, something he can’t quite identify.

Stiles makes his way to the entrance, pausing with his palm on the handle when he sees a picture of Brady set against the inside glass. It’s a notice that the center will be holding a memorial for Brady on Friday night. Stiles steps inside. People loiter inside the lobby, waiting, and he can hear the sound of activity in the other rooms. It’s almost deafening, especially the Jazzercise room, and Stiles nearly misses one of the staff asking him if he needs help.

“Hi.” Stiles says, trying to tune out the cacophony and focus on the young woman in front of him. “I’m, uh, a friend of Brady’s.”

Her face falls in sympathy. “Oh, yeah. Hi. I’m Wendy.” She introduces. “I was an acquaintance of Brady’s. He was…” She hesitates, unable to find an adjective. “Sweet.” She settles on, unconvincingly. “We’re having a memorial for him tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I saw.” Stiles replies. “But I was wondering if I could talk to someone who saw him the day that he…” Stiles trails off, pulling every bit of acting skill he has and thinking about Heather. He’s been wanting to talk to Heather’s friends since she disappeared, just to understand a little more about her, so it’s not difficult to use that feeling. “It’s just been hard, you know, trying to process what happened.”

Wendy touches his shoulder, no doubt thinking it’s a comforting gesture. It would be if Stiles actually were a friend of Brady’s, but her soft, warm hand is mostly just distracting and Stiles can hear the rhythm of her pulse ring in his ears. His eyes glance down, toward her neck, and he can almost see the lifeblood pumping inside her. “You know, I saw him that day. I did most days. Well, after he started working here.”

Stiles draws his eyes away from her neck. “When did he start?” He asks.

“He didn’t tell you?” Wendy inquires, surprised.

“No. but that wasn’t unusual for Brady. He was kind of quiet. To be honest, I didn’t even know he could swim.” Stiles says, stealing Greg’s line.

Wendy smiles. “Do you want some tea?” She asks softly. “We don’t usually let people back in the staffroom, but I think we can make an exception.”

Stiles nods. “I’d really appreciate it.” He says, following her to a room in the back. He sits at the table, waiting while she fills paper cups with handcrafted teabags and hot water.

“It’s chamomile, we make it special ourselves from the garden. It’s supposed to be soothing.” Wendy says, handing him the drink.

It burns when Stiles grabs it, but he barely flinches and his fingers heal quickly.

“Brady started working here a months ago but I knew him before then from the church.” Wendy says.

Most of the people who work at the community center come in from the place of worship across the street, since they actually own it. The blue staff t-shirt even has a golden cross on the chest pocket, advertising the religious connection.

“I don’t know what he was like with you, but he was shy. Quiet. He didn’t really engage much, but he had faith. He really believed in the power of the lord, you know?” She says.

“Yeah.” Stiles says, trying to act like this isn’t news. “He was all about Jesus.” He mutters awkwardly.

Wendy gives him a weird look and he tries to save face.

“He always prayed before Lacrosse.” Stiles says, taking a gamble.

“Lacrosse?”

“Yeah, that’s how I met him.” Stiles explains, taking a sip of his tea. He tries not to cringe at the unappealing flavor. “He played on the other team. Number 44. Best player at Eastridge.” He was a beast, actually, and Stiles is fairly confused at the description of him as shy and spiritual. Out on the field, Brady rammed guys over like it was nothing.

Wendy smiles softly, looking down at her tea. “He always had this sort of quiet passion.”

“Right.” Stiles mutters. “So you saw him the day he was murdered?”

Wendy’s smile fades. “Yeah. He came in around 3, same as always. Took over the lifeguard shift, did his thing.”

“You know one thing that confuses me?” Stiles says. “If the pool closes at six, how’d this guy get to him without anyone noticing?”

“Brady wasn’t just a lifeguard, he helped in the community garden too and he always stayed back to clean up.” Wendy says. “I guess this guy got him then.”

Stiles turns this information over, feeling questions swirl in his mind. “Could I see the garden?” He asks.

Wendy grins. “Yeah, of course.” She lifts her cup, gulping the tea down quickly and Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Waste not, want not.” She mutters sheepishly, wiping her mouth.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Cora goes off to the library, because the loft’s apparently boring, and Scott has nothing to do. Between that, and Derek’s weird attitude about it early, he’s compelled to pick up when the phone company calls again.

“Hello?” He says.

“Finally.” A man grumbles on the other end. “Why the hell haven’t you been answering your phone?”

Scott blinks, recognizing that voice immediately. “Sheriff Stilinski?” He asks.

“Who’d you think it was?” Sheriff snaps.

“Uh, no one. My bad.” Scott mutters.

“Listen, Derek, we need to talk.”

“Now’s not really a good time.” Scott says, standing in the empty loft.

“Well, make it a good time.” The sheriff demands. “Because I’ve had it up to here with your bullshit and I’m this close to dragging your ass down to the station.”

“On what grounds?” Scott asks, shocked.

“You want a list?”

Scott huffs. “Where do you want to meet?”

“O’Malley’s. Back booth.”

“But O’Malley’s is a bar.” Scott mutters.

“Really? I thought it was Candyland.” The sheriff hangs up and Scott pouts.

“Mean.” He mumbles to himself, tucking Derek’s phone in his pants and sighing. He’s not even old enough to be in a bar. Except, he kind of is, and Scott lets out a little “huh” when he realizes that. He guesses he’s going to O’Malley’s.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles follows Wendy out to the garden. It’s split into patches and squares, creating individual spaces for cultivation. Stiles manages to guess before she actually explains it that each person gets their own area.

“Which one is Brady’s?” Stiles asks.

“It’s over this way, back behind the shed.” She says, leading him through the paths between the vegetable patches.

“Kind of out of the way.” Stiles observes.

“He liked the solitude. He said gardening helped him feel closer to the lord, like praying.” Wendy explains. They come up behind the shed and Stiles tilts his head, studying the plants. “He mostly grew herbs.” Wendy says.

There don’t seem to be vegetables there, just beds of flowers or spices. Stiles crouches down. There are small labels stuck into the ground and he reads over them curiously.

“Is this where you get the tea from?” He asks, gesturing at the chamomile tag set in front of a floral row. He takes a curious sniff. He wouldn’t know chamomile from anything else, but he’s smelled it before. This odor is different. So was the tea Wendy gave him, now that he thinks about it.

Stiles glances back. Wendy looks a bit pale and she’s rubbing a hand nervously over her stomach.

“Yeah. Uh, it’s still young. Brady just planted the bulbs a few months ago. It makes good tea though.” She says. She’s looking a bit sick and she stumbles, reaching a hand up to wipe at her brow.

“You alright?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah, I just think I need to lie down a bit.” She whispers, breathless.

Stiles glances back at the plant, frowning. “Is this what you guys made the tea out of?” He asks.

Wendy nods. “We just made some this week. We wanted to surprise Brady with it.” She says.

Stiles chews the inside of his cheek, thinking over everything he’d learned about plants since this whole werewolf thing started. “Listen, Wendy, I don’t think this is chamomile.” He says.

“Then what-” Wendy doesn’t get a chance to finish her question. She turns, hurling into the cabbages.

Stiles’ eyes widen and he goes for his cell phone immediately. “Shit.” He mutters, dialing 911.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

O’Malley’s is the type of seedy gin-joint that attracts the lowest of the low, and at this time of the morning, that’s pretty rock-bottom. Scott steps inside, walking past empty stools and the occasional hollowed-out drunk. The bartender spares him a brief glance before going back to washing glasses. Scott keeps going, feeling Derek’s heart skip and sputter as he makes his way to the back of the bar.

Sheriff’s sitting there, an untouched coke at his side and his rifle out there in the open. He eyes Scott with a guarded expression.

“Derek.” The sheriff mutters.

“Sheriff.” Scott says, sliding into the booth across from Stiles’ dad. Questions swirl in the wolf’s mind, but he doesn’t voice them. He just waits, watching the sheriff. He feels the pang of Stiles’ loss echo in his chest as he stares at his best friend’s dad.

“I want to know what’s going on.” The sheriff says.

Scott blinks. “What?”

“Don’t.” Stilinski says, shaking his head and leaning back in his booth, appearing tired. “Derek, I’ve been holding your hand for months now.”

Scott widens Derek’s eyes, misinterpreting that for a second. Truth is, he has no idea what’s going on right now or why Derek and the sheriff seem so familiar. He doubts they’re dating though. That would be weird.

“We both know I could’ve brought your ass in a long time ago. There’s enough circumstantial evidence to tie your ass to a murder, kidnapping, accessory, aiding and abetting…”

Scott sits there, gaping. “Whoa, whoa, what?”

The sheriff frowns at him, unimpressed. “You want details?”

Scott nods. “Yeah.” He says, because that’s a long list of charges.

“You buried your sister’s body. That’s evidence tampering and there’s enough circumstantial evidence to get your ass on a murder charge. Because I don’t believe for a second she was killed by an animal. Torn up by one, maybe, but someone killed her first.” The sheriff says. “As for the kidnapping, witnesses say you were hanging around Erica and Boyd before they went missing. I think I could find cause to look a little closer at your role in their disappearance. Not only that, but I’d stake my career on the fact that you kidnapped Isaac from my jail cell. As far as I can tell, you’ve created your own little cult, which up until today included my son.” Stilinski growls. “And how about we talk about Peter Hale? You know, your uncle? The one that, according to you, murdered everyone before disappearing on you?”

Scott swallows thickly. “I, uh…” He pauses, licking his lips nervously.

“We’ve got captures of him on security cameras around town. And for the record, dumbass, did you really think I wasn’t keeping tabs on you?” The sheriff says, pulling up a manila folder and opening it. There are pictures of Peter going into Derek’s loft. “I’ve been going easy on you because you seemed like a good kid that got a tough break and you assured me that, whatever was going on here, you were helping people. But frankly, Derek, I don’t see it.” Stilinski growls. “There’s a lot of shit you haven’t been telling me and I’m giving you one last chance.”

Scott sits there, stunned and silent.

“I promise you, Derek, if you don’t take this chance, I will throw your ass in jail and I will dedicate an entire team to making sure you stay there.”

Moments of silence stretch between them as Scott fumbles, grasping for some sort of lie to save himself with. He’s rescued when the sheriff’s radio crackles and a faint voice comes through the other end. Even with werewolf hearing, Scott can’t make heads or tails of what’s being said, but it makes the sheriff go pale. Stilinski rises from the booth, shooting him a warning glance.

“You have till the end of the day.” He says before stomping toward the exit.

“Holy shit.” Scott mutters.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles is sitting in the hospital waiting room, wringing his hands. The police already took his statement and Wendy’s back in the ICU. They don’t know what happened to her, which makes treatment even harder to give

Stiles feels like everything’s crumbling in his fingertips as he sits there. He doesn’t even have Scott to lean on right now. Stiles rubs a palm over his face, clenching his eyes shut. When he opens them again, his dad’s rounding the corner and racing toward him.

“Stiles, you alright?” The sheriff asks, placing a hand on his shoulders and looking at him in concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine, dad.” Stiles says.

The sheriff checks in with his deputy and talks to a nurse. Stiles sits there in a daze until his dad leads him out to the car and drives him home. Stiles finds an invitation to Heather’s funeral on their door step and grips it between shaky fingers, going up to his room. He turns off his phone and lays down in the bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about nothing.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Derek gets through the day. It’s alright, if a bit lonely. He’d taken Stiles’ presence the day before for granted and he finds himself missing it as he maneuvers through the hallways. People are friendly enough. Scott has a lot of friends, so people say hi and ask how he is, but Derek doesn’t know any of them so it’s less meaningful.

Finstock, embittered that Scott missed class yesterday, seems to pick on Derek for the hardest questions. He gets them wrong and Finstock delights in cutting him down with insults that are as nonsensical as they are rage-inducing. Finstock calls Scott stupid and Derek frowns. He doesn’t have a good comeback to it, but he knows it’s not true, and his expression darkens.

People are hesitant to raise their hands in Economics and Derek isn’t surprised. They fair a bit better than Derek does and he thinks that Finstock must have a personal stake against Scott, which seems unfair. Greenberg shoots him a sympathetic look and Derek stiffens. Greenberg freaks him out.

Track goes better and Derek enjoys the stress relief of running over the terrain. It relaxes him enough that Physics isn’t too bad. Harris is a dick when he goes to get his phone back and the teacher reminds Derek that he still has lunch detention. He’s not paired with Greenberg this time, fortunately, and he cleans the supply room in a daze. He texts Scott to get a complete list of his schedule and groans when he sees he has three classes left.

Derek’s in a boredom-induced stupor by the time he gets to English. He hates high school and he’s seriously planning on playing hooky tomorrow. That is, until he walks into the English room and sees Ms. Blake standing at the front desk. Sunlight’s streaming in through the windows, creating a halo around her browns curls, and Derek feels his breath catch.

Ms. Blake looks up, green eyes meeting his.

“Hello, Scott.” She says. “You weren’t in class yesterday.”

It takes Derek a few seconds to process that. He shuffles closer, staring up into her spectacular face. She smells amazing and he wants to quote poetry into her eyes. “Yeah, I was…something came up. I had to…emergency.” He mutters, realizing afterwards how stupid he sounds.

“Is everything alright?” She asks.

“Yeah. No. I don’t know.” Fuck, Derek needs to shut up.

“Right.” Ms. Blake says, frowning. “Did you get the reading done?”

Derek stumbles. “What reading?” He asks.

“ _The Crucible.”_

Derek relaxes almost instantly. Yeah, he’s definitely got that covered. He nods, enjoying the surprised pride he sees in her face, and he steps away, moving towards the desks. Lydia’s looking at him, subtly trying to wave him over, and he takes the empty seat next to her. When he looks up, Ms. Blake’s writing on the board, and he watches the motion of her back as her arm moves with the pen.

Lydia asks him a question and Derek hums.

“Scott.” Lydia says, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

Derek shakes himself back to attention. “What?” He asks.

“I said ‘how’s Stiles?’” Lydia repeats, irritated.

“Oh, he’s a werewolf now.” Derek mutters, gaze moving back to Ms. Blake. Lydia follows his line of sight and rolls her eyes, turning her attention down to her notebook. She frowns at the tree sketch she doesn’t remember drawing and flips to a blank page.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

“Bloodroot.” Stiles mutters, staring at his computer screen. It’s 9pm and he finally got out of bed a few hours ago to start researching the flowers from the community center. They weren’t chamomile at all. They were Bloodroot and they were poisonous. He calls Mrs. McCall, babbling excitedly into the phone. “Hey, you remember that girl that I came in with earlier? That poison, I found out what it was -”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” Mrs. McCall interrupts and Stiles’ heart sinks. “She died, sweetie.”

Stiles deflates. “Oh. Okay.”

“What was it?” Mrs. McCall asks. “The poison?”

“It, uh, it doesn’t matter.” Stiles hangs up. He stares at his phone for a moment, feeling like he should call someone else about the bloodroot. Scott is who he wants to call. Stiles shakes his head and turns his phone off again.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

“You have the right to remain silent…”

Scott can see Cora watching from the loft window as the sheriff cuffs him. It’s night time and the moon hangs high in the sky, reflecting above her on the glass pane. The sheriff finishes reading his rights and shoves him into the backseat. Scott slumps down in the car, eyes fixed on the barbed gate separating the front and the back. He can’t help but feel the empty space beside him and think that Stiles ought to be there. Not that he’d want Stiles to get arrested, but there was a time when he and his best friend would be right here together.

Scott’s surprised to find that he’s thinking about it in past tense. He realizes it’s because he and Stiles haven’t been inseparable for a while. There’s a gap between them that’s been growing for months and he hasn’t even noticed. Scott sighs, wondering how everything could’ve gotten so messy.


	10. The Good Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter (very long.) Sorry it took me so long to update. Also sorry about this chapter. 
> 
> As always, cover art done by the lovely, fantabulous blackbirdrose

** Chapter 9; The Good Wolf: **

Derek’s halfway down the driveway with the McCall trash bin when he gets the call from Scott.

He hears his own voice come from the other end, panicked and strained. “I’m in jail.” Scott whispers.

Derek blinks, freezing in his journey to the curb. “What?” He asks.

“The sheriff arrested me.” Scott hisses.

Derek hears a throat clear in the background.

“There’s an officer behind me.” Scott says quietly. “I can’t get into it now. But dude, I think you’re in big trouble. Or I am, if we don’t switch back. I don’t know, it’s confusing. Just get here as soon as you can.”

The line goes dead and Derek clenches Scott’s jaw. “Shit.” He bites out. He abandons the trash bin and runs inside, throwing shoes on carelessly. He sees the keys to Scott’s dirt bike and grabs them. He throws Scott’s helmet on and he hops on the machine, starting it up and barreling down the street. Wind whips past him, hitting his bare arms. He’d changed into a tank top when he got to the McCall’s that evening, preferring the freedom of less layers. Scott runs a bit cooler than he normally does, so it’s been tolerable donning his long-sleeve shirts and jackets, but Derek’s partial to the feel of air on his skin. It’s particularly nice in Scott’s body since the wolf is less bulky than Derek, which frees up more of him to the breeze. Especially his armpits.

Derek’s sort of jealous of how lacking in funk Scott’s underarms are. He remembers constantly sweating when he was a teenager. Scott sweats in other areas of course – his asscrack, which is something Derek didn’t need to know, and his feet. And between his legs. Derek thinks he’s going to look for shorts when he gets back.

The wolf steers the bike out onto the road, weaving between traffic as he rushes to the police station. A chill runs up his spine and he’s tempted to chock it up to the harsh currents rushing past him, but he catches movement in his periphery. A quick glance reveals red eyes glowing at him from a rooftop. He sniffs – alpha. One of the twins. A look at the other side reveals his brother. They’re being obvious this time and he realizes they want him to know they’re there.

Derek takes a turn, watching as they race after him. He’s pretty sure the alphas are keeping tabs on all of the pack, which means they probably already know about Scott being arrested. He’s still going to try to lose the twins before he leads them right to the police station.

Derek revs the engine, taking risky turns and making dangerous passes around the other vehicles. The alphas keep up, chasing him through emptier and narrower streets. It looks like they’re just following him, but he thinks there’s a trickier game here. He realizes that he’s unintentionally isolating himself and he’s more than positive that they’re going to fight him once he’s alone.

Derek turns around and heads toward the highway, changing tactics. The alphas falter before dashing after him. He hears two different sets of growls – one excited and one frustrated. He doesn’t know which is Aiden and which is Ethan, but he’s started to notice that one of the twins is more aggressive than the other. They both get off on fighting, but one likes the game and the other just likes the violence. He’s not sure if it makes much of a difference in the long run, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to be cornered by either one of them. The one who likes the chase will just get energy from the added thrill of Derek’s fleeing, making him even more powerful. The one that likes the violence will be aggravated at the added effort, resulting in a more brutal attack. If he’s going to fight either one of them, he thinks it’d be best not to stall first.

The alphas start drawing closer, narrowing in on him. The streets are empty and one gets brave enough to run at him from the side of the street and Derek swerves, racing into the next road. He’s flying toward the intersection when the wolf reaches out. The light goes red and he doesn’t have the option of stopping so he speeds through. A car comes out, slamming into his side and he skids. The alpha snarls, retreating, and Derek hisses, pushing his helmet off and looking down at Scott’s body. The car screeches to a halt a few feet away, its front dented where he rammed into it. There are no other vehicles coming and he hears the door open as he inspects the injuries. Skin’s come loose and bloods running down Scott’s arm. He feels hot liquid under Scott’s jeans and he’s pretty sure he broke a rib. It all starts to knit itself up as the driver rushes to his side, apologizing profusely.

“Oh my god, Scott, are you alright?” Ms. Blake says, staring down at him with wide eyes. The dirt bike’s skidded to the other side of the street and Derek’s pretty sure it’s going to need some repairs before it’s working again. “Oh my god, oh my god. You’re injured. Is anything broken?”

Derek shakes Scott’s head. He’s already healing and he’ll be back together in a few seconds. It could’ve been a lot worse, frankly. He looks over Ms. Blake’s shoulder, trying to see if the alphas are still nearby. He doesn’t spot red eyes anywhere and their smell’s faded.

“I’m fine.” Derek says, sitting up.

“You can’t be fine. I hit you with a car!” Ms. Blake protests, resting a hand against his bicep and trying to steady him, even when he already feels steady.

Derek cocks Scott’s head. “Are you okay?” He asks, because she looks like she’s about to faint.

“I hit you with a car!” She yells, staring at him with wide eyes. “I could have killed you!”

Derek’s not sure what to say to that so he just stands up and brushes dirt off Scott’s jeans. It’s fairly futile since the denim’s already stained with blood, but he does it anyway.

“I need to take you to the hospital.” Ms. Blake says, rushing after him as he moves over to Scott’s bike.

Derek stands the machine up and inspects it with a frown. The frame’s bent and one of the tires is lying in the gutter, having been knocked off the bike completely. Derek doesn’t know if he should get the thing fixed or just buy Scott a different bike.

“Scott!” Ms. Blake shouts, trying to get his attention. “Hospital!” She repeats at his curious look.

“I’m fine.” Derek mutters, sighing at the machine.

“You’re not fine. You’re injur-” Ms. Blake starts, gesturing at his arm. She freezes when she sees it under the streetlight and her eyebrows furrow. There’s blood, but no obvious wound, and Derek can see when her mind stumbles over that fact.

“I have to go.” He says.

“Let me drive you.” Ms. Blake protests quickly. She tears her eyes away from the blood and stares at him earnestly. “You can put the bike in the trunk.”

“It’ll get it dirty.” Derek says, searching for an excuse out of her offer. He could just say no, but she seems persistent and he’s pretty sure the alphas will make a reappearance after she leaves.

“Scott, just get in the damn car!” Ms. Blake says, half-hysterical.

Derek blinks at her in surprise.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just…I don’t do well in high pressure situations.”

Derek snorts, lifting Scott’s bike. “Good thing you’re a high school teacher.” He mutters.

Ms. Blake’s mouth twists sheepishly as she scoops up the fallen tire and follows him over to her vehicle, pausing to retrieve the helmet along the way. “It’s not that bad. When I’m not running over my students.” She replies, opening the door to the trunk. She still looks about three seconds from a panic attack.

“It was my fault.” Derek replies, dropping the bike in the back. Ms. Blake places her cargo in with more care and glances at him in concern.

“Why were you going so fast?” She asks, closing the car up.

“I, uh…” Derek glances back again at the street he came down, scanning for alphas automatically. “Teen recklessness.” He shrugs, moving to the front of the vehicle and slipping into the passenger seat. Ms. Blake gets into the driver’s side hesitantly.

“I should take you to the hospital.” She insists again, buckling up and gripping the wheel with white knuckles. Derek can smell the anxiety rolling off of her as she shakily reaches for the ignition.

“I was heading for the police station.” Derek says, wondering if maybe he ought to drive.

Ms. Blake looks at him with wide eyes. “Are you pressing charges?”

Derek raises Scott’s eyebrows. “I was going there before you hit me.”

“Oh, right.” She says. “Good, because I don’t make that much money.”

Derek shakes his head, amused, and watches her start the car up. She drives at a snail’s pace, staring out the window like she expects someone else to come barreling out in front of her. Derek remembers her dented bumper.

“You should send me your mechanic bill.” He points out. He’s got enough money to pay for it. He’s got an excess of cash from inheritance and insurance.

“Insurance!” Ms. Blake suddenly exclaims. “We need to exchange insurance information.”

“It’s fine. I mean, I don’t have any.” Derek says, not sure if it’s true but knowing he can’t risk trying to deal with Scott’s insurance. He doesn’t even know the wolf’s birthday, so it could be pretty risky when they get to the personal information part.

Ms. Blake lets out a weird, high-pitched whine, giving him a terrified look. Derek reaches out quickly, straightening the steering wheel as the car starts to veer into the other lane. She definitely shouldn’t be driving, he thinks, heart pounding in his chest as they get back on track. Ms. Blake squeaks, staring out the window again.

“How do you not have insurance?” She asks.

“Teen recklessness?” Derek tries again.

Ms. Blake grits her teeth. “Scott!” She bites out in protest.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think that far ahead.” Derek replies. Ms. Blake’s still going at about two miles an hour. “Maybe I should drive.”

“It’s fine. I got it.” Ms. Blake insists.

“You sure?” Derek asks. “Because the police station’s in the other direction.”

Ms. Blake groans, pulling over and dropping her head onto the steering wheel. “This is the worst night ever.” She mutters.

Derek reaches out hesitantly, patting her back. She’s wearing a lovely blue cardigan draped over a rather pretty polka-dot dress and Derek admires the soft feel of the material before he realizes he’s wiping dirt on it. He retracts Scott’s hand quickly and Ms. Blake turns her head, looking at him with watery eyes.

Derek raises Scott’s eyes questioningly.

“I had the worst first date in the history of first dates. And then I hit you with my car.” She says. “And I think I’m sitting in pizza.”

Derek looks down and yep, that’s a slice of Hawaiian pizza trapped under her butt. He glances behind her, seeing an upended pizza box in the back seat. He’d been so busy watching Ms. Blake that he’d missed the pie strewn around the vehicle. It must have happened when she’d swerved to avoid him and slammed on her breaks. How it ended up under her butt, he’s not quite sure, but he can’t stop his lips from twitching.

“It’s not funny.” Ms. Blake mutters.

Derek shakes Scott’s head, trying to keep the chortle at bay. Ms. Blake starts laughing first, letting out silent, body-shaking snickers that morph into bubbling trills. Derek follows, incredulous chuckles working their way out as he stares at her.

“God.” Ms. Blake says, pulling away from the wheel and seeming more composed. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Derek says. “Are you going to let me drive?”

Ms. Blake looks at him contemplatively.

“I’ll stick to the speed limit.” He promises.

Ms. Blake sighs, unbuckling. “Against my better judgement, fine. You do have your license, right?”

Derek nods and she exits the car, peeling the pizza off her backside and discarding it on the sidewalk. Derek tries not to stare at her ass while she does it. He moves over quickly, relieved when they settle in and he finally gets them going in the right direction.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Scott’s in the interrogation room. He threads Derek’s fingers together nervously, glancing around the concrete walls and toward the two-way mirror in nervous intervals.

The sheriff observes him from behind the mirror, his blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. He knows he should have brought Derek in months ago. He’d let fatherly protectiveness get in the way of his job though. As long as Stiles was in the picture, he kept letting this shit slide, and it cost him his job once and it would have cost him his job again if Stiles hadn’t told him he was stepping away from it.

Deputy Tara Graeme enters the room, looking at him hesitantly. “They’re here.” She says.

The sheriff sighs, nodding.

“And, uh, sir?” Tara says. “I got those things you wanted. They’re on your desk.”

The sheriff inclines his head, following her out into the hallway. He heads over to his office, spotting a familiar person seated in front of his work table. “Thought you wouldn’t be here for another week.” He says, closing his office door.

“What? And miss all the fun.” Agent McCall says, smirking.

The sheriff looks down at his desk, spotting the manila folder Tara had gotten for him. It’s stuff on cases from the past nine months – information on Scott and Stiles, their statements and other witness statements. He has his own investigation going at home, but he needs to know what someone’s going to be able to dig up. He’s going to protect his son from this as much as he can. Scott he’s less sure about.

“Where’s the rest of your team?” The sheriff asks.

“Agent Carter’s going through your files.” Rafael says.

The sheriff waits, then stares at the man incredulously. “They only sent two of you?” He asks.

“There didn’t seem much reason in wasting resources. Carter and I should have it solved pretty quickly.” Agent McCall replies.

Sheriff Stilinski grits his teeth.

“I understand you just arrested a suspect.” Rafael says.

Sheriff frowns, confused. “Who? Hale?” He says. “That’s unrelated.”

“Not according to our files, it isn’t.” Rafael says. “And I’ll want to speak to your son later.”

Sheriff grits his teeth. “You’ll want to speak to Scott too then, I’m guessing.” He says, knowing it’s not fair to Scott but enjoying the way Rafael’s eyes widen momentarily. “I’ll get you his number. Unless you’ve already got it?”

Agent McCall clenches his jaw and the sheriff smirks.

“Hale’s this way.” He says.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

“So…bad date?” Derek prompts awkwardly.

Ms. Blake looks at him in surprise. “Oh, um, yeah. Forget I said anything about that.”

“You want to talk about it?” Derek asks.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate.” Ms. Blake says.

Derek looks at her, unimpressed with the excuse. “You hit me with a car.” He points out.

Ms. Blake purses her lips for a moment then sighs. “He kept calling me Jessica.” She says as a start.

Derek realizes he doesn’t actually know her first name and he silently wonders if it would be okay to ask. She seems to read the question on his face anyway.

“My name’s Jennifer.” She says. “But that wasn’t even the worst of it. He spent the whole evening talking about his ex-girlfriends. Then he told me that what he really wanted in a woman was someone who could keep up with him and whip him into shape. He ignored everything I had to say until I told him I didn’t want to go back to his place for dessert and then suddenly I was a domineering b-word. And I got left with the bill.”

Derek glances at her in surprise. “Wow.” He mutters, lost for what to say. That does sound like a horrible date.

“Yeah. So my big plan was to go home and bury my feelings in Hawaiian pizza while watching romantic comedies until my hope in happy endings is restored.” Ms. Blake says.

There’s a pause as Derek trying to figure out how to respond to that. He’s stuck on the image of Ms. Blake curled up on the couch, watching movies, and he feels a weird little thrill in his stomach.

“What about you? Why are you heading to the police station?” Ms. Blake asks.

“A friend got arrested.” He says.

“Interesting friend.” Ms. Blake mutters.

“More like a brother, really.” Derek says, because fuck it, yeah he’s going to try to build himself up to Ms. Blake.

“What he in for?”

“I’m not actually sure yet.”

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Scott shifts uncomfortably, tensing when he hears footsteps from outside. There are two sets and he’s sure one belongs to the sheriff. The other must be a deputy or one of the officers.

The door opens and Scott looks up quickly, freezing when he sees the sheriff come in with –

“Dad.” Scott mutters.

Rafael cocks his head, studying him curiously.

“Derek, this is Agent McCall.” The sheriff says, making the introductions.

It’s weird, having his own father presented to him like a stranger. Scott thinks mildly that Rafael McCall practically is one, since he hasn’t seen him in two years. The guy’s aged. Not much, but enough to make the gap of time between them that much more pronounced. Crow’s feet frame his eyelids and gray caresses the edge of his temples. Scott’s sure that he’s changed far more dramatically than his father has – particularly with regards to the past nine months – but he doesn’t get the benefit of watching his dad’s eyes widen in shock at the sight of him. He’s dad watches him with a distant expression. For all the man knows, Scott is Derek Hale, a twenty-something man guilty of…well, a lot of things, according to Sheriff Stilinski.

Scott’s not sure which charges to panic about more – the aiding and abetting, the accessory to murder, the withholding information and obstructing a police investigating, or the more vague accusations that he’s brainwashed teenagers. He doesn’t think they can actually arrest him on that one, but it wouldn’t look good in court. And he’s a little confused, but he thinks the sheriff is angling to have him charged with Laura Hale’s murder as well. All in all, it doesn’t look good, and now he has to deal with his dad on top of it.

Everything seems to be growing more and more complicated as the days pass and Scott feels himself being tugged in too many directions at once.

“Derek Hale.” Agent McCall says, slumping into a seat in front of Scott. “There’s a pretty big file on you.”

_Thunk_

Scott jumps, gaping at the gigantic folder the agent drops on the desk.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Rafael says, lips twitching into a smirk.

Scott grits Derek’s teeth, glaring at his father.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles can’t sleep. He feels something crawling through his veins. It’s poisonous, like anger and rage and primal energy.

Stiles is crouched down in the corner, his claws up over his head and his beta gold eyes staring out at his bedroom. He’s destroyed half of it. He’s scratched up wallpaper and wrecked his bedside lamp. He’s torn up his mattress and dumped out half of his closet. He’s still furious and antsy. He clutches at his scalp, brain filling up with sensations and thoughts he’s sure aren’t his own.

He feels something calling him. He thinks it might be his alpha, but he’s not sure. He knows he needs to break the connection though. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to get himself under control. He sees something in his brain, flashing over and over again. He scrapes the patterns into the carpet, ripping up the rug as he traces the symbols.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Rafael smells like coffee and leather and city streets. It’s a sophisticated, off-putting scent that’s so far removed from the Scott’s life it only makes the wolf more irritated. The man left, off to better things. He should have stayed gone.

“Where were you during the Hale fire?” Rafael asks.

Scott frowns. “You think I started it?” He asks, incredulous on Derek’s behalf. Even if Derek was the type of guy who could murder his family, he was 16 at the time. Barely 16 actually, judging by the birthdate they have on file. Which makes the recent revelations about his and Kate’s relationship even more nauseating.

“You got a pretty good inheritance.” Agent McCall points out.

Scott glowers. “I didn’t kill them.” He says.

“What was your relationship to Kate Argent?” Rafael asks.

Scott shifts, uncomfortably.

“According to this,” Agent McCall says, gesturing at his paperwork, “She was a substitute lifeguard at the high school pool. You were a sophomore then, right?”

The wolf’s stomach twists. He feels a little sick and he’s glad Derek’s not here to rehash all this. He glances over at the Sheriff. The man smells edgy and uncomfortable, but he doesn’t break his composure. He’s cold, staying professional to the end, and Scott feels lonely and cornered.

“You ever talk to her?” Agent McCall asks.

Scott grits Derek’s teeth and gives a short, brief nod.

“How close were you two?”

The wolf looks down at the table. It’s not his place to say and the truth is he’s not sure how to answer. He doesn’t really have the details on Derek and Kate’s encounters. He can draw assumptions and put the pieces together to come up with some sort of picture, but that doesn’t mean he can talk about it.

“Let me answer for you.” Agent McCall says. “You two were sleeping together. You fell in love with her. Maybe she made the first move, maybe you did, either way you guys were an item. You tell her about your family and you guys make a plan. They’ll all die mysteriously in a fire, you get the inheritance and you both run away together. Only it goes wrong. Your sister and your uncle live, Kate bails and now you’re stuck splitting the fortune three ways.”

“No!” Scott protests. He can feel his claws descending under the table and he takes a deep breath, trying to get himself under control. “Kate did the fire on her own. Der- _I_ wasn’t involved.” Scott feels Derek’s heart skyrocket, panic and confusion swirling through him. He’s starting to slip and his dad’s just watching him smugly.

“Why?” Agent McCall asks. “What could she get out of burning your family to death?”

Scott shrugs.

“Unless maybe there was something going on between your families. Hales vs. Argents?”

The wolf furrows Derek’s eyebrows, not sure what his dad’s trying to say.

“Here’s a question for you, Derek - how’d your family earn the Hale fortune?” Rafael asks.

Scott falters. Sheriff Stilinski glances at the agent, perplexed, while Rafael’s gaze remains unwavering on his son.

“I…I don’t know. Old money?” Scott guesses.

Rafael leans forward. “Old money still comes from somewhere. But there’s no record of a Hale family business or any means of significant income. In fact, as far as we can tell, no member of your family worked a day in their lives before they died. At least, not legally.”

Scott widens Derek’s eyes. “What do you mean ‘legally’?” He asks.

Rafael grins a horrible, predatory smile. “I think you know exactly what I mean.” He says. “But by all means, keep up the pretense, because frankly, it doesn’t really matter whether you cooperate or not. I’ve already got enough for a warrant.”

“Warrant?” Scott asks. The sheriff reeks of surprise too, even though his face doesn’t show it.

“We’re gonna search your properties.” Rafael warns. “We’re gonna inspect every nook and cranny until we find the drugs. And if there are bodies, we’re gonna find those too.”

Scott gapes.

Rafael slides out of his chair, picking up Derek’s file and sauntering towards the exit. “Enjoy your stay, Hale.” He says. “You’re gonna be here a while.”

Scott’s left sitting there, shell-shocked.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

“What the hell was that?” Sheriff Stilinski hisses as he follows Agent McCall through the hallway.

“An interrogation.” Rafael says.

“Could have fooled me.” The sheriff counters. “What was all that about drugs?”

Rafael stops, frowning at him. “What the hell did you think was going on here?” He asks, bewildered.

The sheriff’s not sure what to say. He hadn’t really formulated a good explanation yet.

Rafael rolls his eyes. “Follow me.” He says. He takes the sheriff to a side room, where he and Agent Carter have set up a corkboard with pictures and sticky notes on it. It’s impressive given the short amount of time they’ve been at the station. “Agent Carter, Sheriff Stilinski.” Rafael says, introducing the two men. He only gives them a few seconds to shake hands before he’s drawing their attention to the board.

Sheriff Stilinski steps forward, studying it.

“We’ve been digging into the Hales and the Argents. Seems they’ve got some sort of rivalry dating back a few years. Gerard Argent vs. Talia Hale, their parents before that, etc.”

“So you think Kate targeted Derek?” Sheriff Stilinski asks.

Rafael raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah.” He says, like it’s obvious. “Both families go back aways. They have a history with each other – often violent – they both have questionable forms of income…”

“Chris Argent’s a firearms dealer. He’s licensed.” Sheriff Stilinski points out.

“Pretty good cover.” Rafael replies. “Also a good way to provide weapons to your drug ring.”

Sheriff Stilinski blinks. “Drug ring?”

“That’s the theory.” Rafael says.

The sheriff looks at the board. “And the missing kids?” He says, gesturing at Boyd and Erica.

“Drug mules.” Rafael explains.

The sheriff shakes his head, not sure if he believes any of it. He’s sure there’s a flaw in there somewhere, but he can’t find it yet. He thinks back to what Stiles told him, about how it was only supposed to be one time but stuff got out of hand and he and Scott got roped into this big thing. He lets out a long breath.

“So if it is drugs, why tell him you were looking for them?” Sheriff Stilinski asks. There’s a moment of silence and his eyes widen in understanding. “A trap?” He asks.

“Yep.” Rafael confirms.

“Who are you expecting to get?” The sheriff asks.

“My money’s on Peter. Carter’s undecided.” Rafael says. “You want to place any bets?”

Stilinski sighs. He goes from Peter to Isaac to Boyd to Erica, but his mind settles elsewhere.

 _‘Scott’_ He thinks uncomfortably. And if Scott gets involved, Stiles will too. Even if Stiles has claimed that he’s ‘out’ the sheriff knows him too well to think it’ll last.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Derek goes into the police station, followed by Ms. Blake. The deputy fetches Sheriff Stilinski, who comes out and looks at them in surprise.

“I can guess why you’re here,” The sheriff says, an edge of disapproval in his gaze when he eyes Derek, “But not you.” He points at Ms. Blake.

“I ran him over. With my car.” Ms. Blake says quickly.

Derek sighs, sure there’s going to be some sort of paperwork involved. He shoots a mildly irritated look Ms. Blake’s way and she shrugs.

Sheriff Stilinski stares at them both with wide eyes. “I should call your mom.” He says to Derek.

The wolf shakes his head. “I’m fine. It wasn’t that bad.”

“What about the blood?” Sheriff says, gesturing at Scott’s clothes.

“It’s…not mine.” Derek tries, then realizes that actually sounds worse. “I mean, it is mine. But it’s fake.”

“Fake?” The sheriff echoes, unconvinced.

“I’m trying out my Halloween costume.” Derek replies, stony-faced and serious as he lies Scott’s pants off. He’s doing a terrible job, but he thinks if he’s confident enough he can sell it. It’s worked in the past.

“What are you going as?” The sheriff asks.

“Someone who got hit by a car.” Derek answers.

“Right.” The sheriff narrows his eyes, studying the wolf. He lets out a sigh. “Come on.” He says, nodding to the hallway to his office. “I’m calling your mom.”

Derek sighs, nodding goodbye to Ms. Blake and following the sheriff.

“You know we’re past visiting hours, right?” The sheriff says, shooting him a pointed look as he closes his office door behind them.

“He called me.” Derek says, hoping the sheriff’s going to let him back. He guesses he’ll wait till morning if he has to.

The sheriff watches him carefully. “Why?” He asks.

Derek frowns, confused. “What?”

“Why’d he call you?”

“Because he was in trouble.” Derek says, shrugging Scott’s shoulders.

“See, that’s what doesn’t make sense. A few months ago you were accusing him of murder. Now all the sudden, he’s in trouble and instead of a lawyer, he calls you.”

Derek clenches Scott’s jaw and doesn’t say anything. It’s his usual policy with the sheriff. He only ever says as much as he needs to in order to get by and keep himself out of prison. It looks like it came back to bite him in the ass though. He’s going to need to find a lawyer for Scott. He knows Peter has some contacts.

“Stiles told me that you and he…” The sheriff casts around for a good term. “Broke up.” He says, for lack of something better.

“Uh, yeah.” Derek replies.

“Scott, if you’re in trouble, you need to talk to me.” The sheriff says, seriously. “Because it’s about get a lot worse.”

Derek looks at the sheriff thoughtfully, wondering what he means by that. Derek can see it getting a lot worse, what with the alphas and the body swap, but the sheriff doesn’t know about any of that. Derek wonders what the sheriff does know.

Sheriff Stilinski sees something over Derek’s shoulder and stiffens. “Speaking of worse.” He says, standing straight and watching the door warily.

Derek looks back, seeing two FBI agents making their way over. A tall man with dark hair and tan skin pushes the door open and looks between Derek and the sheriff in shock and frustration.

“What the hell’s going on here?” He asks. He looks down at Scott’s clothes, eyes widening when he sees blood. “What the hell happened to you?”

Derek looks between the agent and Sheriff Stilinski, not sure how to react. He doesn’t know who this guy is or why he’s butting in, but he doesn’t really care. “Can I see Derek?” He asks the sheriff.

“Uh, I guess.” The sheriff says, looking over at the FBI agents and then back at Derek.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The agent says warily.

“Noted.” Sheriff Stilinski says. “But it’s still my station, and I’m gonna let him see him.”

“It’s past visiting hours.” The agent points out.

“I’m making an exception.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that I can.” Sheriff Stilinski says. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

The agent stares at him, a silent stand-off passing between the two men before he finally steps aside and lets the sheriff pass. Derek follows after.

“Scott.” The agent says and Derek feels a hand wind around Scott’s elbow. He looks up at the man, confused and irritated. The agent cocks his head, curious. “I don’t think you should do this.”

Derek frowns, because seriously, who the hell even is this guy? Some overbearing agent, it seems, offering unwanted advice and being overly personal. Derek thinks about pushing him off but refrains. He doesn’t need to go around pissing off the FBI. He could tell the guy to let go of him, but he doesn’t want to do that either. He’s more than capable of pulling himself out of the guy’s grip anyway, and he’s rather do that than ask. If Derek were in his normal body, his glare would be enough to intimidate the man, but it doesn’t seem to be working and Derek huffs.

He leans in close, near the guy’s ear. “I don’t think you should wear that aftershave. It makes you smell like a mid-life crisis.” He says. He pulls back, smirking at the guy’s irritated expression. “Thanks for the advice.” He says, jerking Scott’s elbow free and exiting the office.

He follows Sheriff Stilinski down to the cells, where he sees his own eyes watching him desperately between the bars.

“Der- _Scott.”_ Scott says, correcting himself with a panicked look at the sheriff.

“You guys have fifteen minutes.” The sheriff says. He nods at the deputy standing guard and they exit the room, giving the two wolves privacy. Relatively. There’s a drunk in the cell by Scott’s, but Derek doubts he’ll be an issue.

Derek moves over, standing in front of the bars. “What’s going on?” He asks.

“I don’t know. There’s like a list of charges. He’s trying to get you for Laura and Peter and – and how come you didn’t tell me you and Sheriff Stilinski had some sort of arrangement?” Scott asks, glaring at Derek.

“Ah.” Derek mutters. “It was supposed to be a secret.”

“What was? What are were you guys up to? And why was he listed as the ‘Phone Company’?”

Derek shrugs. “I couldn’t have him in there as the sheriff.”

“Yeah, but why Phone Company?”

“P.C. Police Chief.” Derek says. “It was the closest I could get. And no one’s gonna pick up if the phone company calls.”

Scott blinks, staring at his own face twisted into Derek’s blank expression and thinking it makes a weird amount of sense. “What was your guys’ arrangement?”

“I’d feed him information.” Derek confesses. “Crimes around town, drug deals, stuff like that.”

Scott blinks. “You’re a snitch?” He asks incredulously.

“Basically.” Derek admits. “It was the only way I could keep him away from us.”

“What do you mean?” Scott asks.

Derek sighs. “We haven’t been subtle.” He points out. “There was enough to start an investigation on you, me, and Stiles. If he started looking into that, we’d all be screwed. I gave him an out. I’d feed him information, keep him in the loop when I can, and he didn’t have to drag me into jail or start investigating his son.” Derek explains. “I think Stiles was the only thing protecting us from the sheriff. As long as we had him on our side, the sheriff was turning a blind eye.” He says quietly, looking at his own face seriously to get the message across to Scott.

“I guess the timing’s not a coincidence then.” Scott muses. “Me-slash-you getting arrested the day Stiles leaves.”

Derek shakes his head. “He told the sheriff you guys had a fight and split.”

Scott sighs. It feels more official hearing that. His heart aches.

“We need him on our side.” Derek says.

“You want to use Stiles as a shield?” Scott asks.

“If it’ll scare the sheriff off, yeah.” Derek replies.

Scott shakes his head. “We can’t ask him to come back.” Scott says. “And, I mean, it’s too late for that, you know? The FBI’s here.”

“Yeah, I met them.” Derek says. “And I think one of them knows you. He knew your name.” Derek says curiously.

Scott stiffens. “Just ignore him.” He says offhandedly. “He’s just some guy.”

Derek nods doubtfully.

“They think it’s drugs.” Scott says.

“What?” Derek asks.

“They think it’s some sort of drug thing. Like we’re a gang, I guess.”

Derek raises Scott’s eyebrows. “A drug gang?”

“Yeah.”

The both hear footsteps approaching and Scott squeezes the bars, leaning in and talking hurriedly.

“Listen, they’re going to do a search. You gotta get everyone out of the loft. And I think they might be looking in the preserve, I don’t know.”

“For drugs?”

“Yeah, drugs. And he said bodies. Did you - what did you do with Erica?” Scott asks.

“She’s buried near the house.” Derek says.

“You gotta move her.” Scott warns.

The door opens and the sheriff comes in. “Gotta cut it short.” He says. “Your mom’s here.”

Scott looks at Derek pleadingly. “Get me out of here.” He whispers. Derek nods and turns. The sheriff leads him out into the lobby, where Mrs. McCall’s waiting for him.

“Scott.” She says, relieved as she pulls him into a hug. Derek returns it awkwardly, giving her a one-handed pat on the back. “What happened?” She asks, pulling away and looking at the blood.

“I crashed my bike.” He says.

“Ah.” The sheriff says suddenly, remembering. “Your teacher left the remains with us.”

“Teacher?” Mrs. McCall asks.

“Ms. Blake. I ran into her.” He says. Melissa raises her eyebrows.

“Sounded more like she ran into you.” The sheriff points out.

“You got hit by a car?” Melissa asks, voice strained.

“No.” Derek lies.

Melissa doesn’t buy it and her eyes widen. “We’re going to talk about this.” She says quietly and Derek internally groans. “Thanks, sheriff.” She says.

Sheriff Stilinski nods.

“Come on, honey. Let’s go home.” Mrs. McCall says and Derek feels her hand on Scott’s shoulder, steering him toward the door. She freezes halfway there, looking like she’s just seen a ghost. Derek follows her gaze over to the FBI agent from earlier, who’s watching them from the edge of the lobby. He has a file in his hand and it looks like he stopped on his way to do something. Mrs. McCall’s scent spikes with something like anger and she puts a reassuring hand on Derek, squeezing Scott’s shoulder. The wolf has no idea why. “Let’s go.” She says, leading him out of the room. The agent looks like he wants to protest and Derek thinks there’s more to it than Scott told him.

They find the remains of Scott’s dirtbike on the sidewalk and Melissa gapes.

“Oh my god, Scott.” She says, rubbing a hand over her face. “I knew the bike was a bad idea.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Derek says.

Melissa stares at him incredulously. “You could have died!”

“I didn’t.” Derek says

Mrs. McCall stands silent for a while before her eye twitches. “No more dirtbikes.” She says.

“How am I supposed to get to school?” Derek asks.

“Ride with Stiles.”

“I can’t. Stiles and I broke up.” He says.

Melissa studies him. “What?” She asks.

“Stiles and I aren’t friends anymore.”

“What? Honey, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Derek bit him.” Derek says, the statement physically painful. He’s not sure how this is going to work out, but he thinks Stiles might be his beta after he and Scott switch back and that’s not an entirely pleasant thought. Plus, the consent issues just make the whole thing super messy and now he’s going to get blamed for it.

“Wait, so Stiles is…” She holds her fingers up like claws.

Derek nods Scott’s head.

“Holy shit.” Mrs. McCall mutters and it’s weird hearing curses from her. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know.” Derek says. “He’s pretty messed up over it. He’s transferring schools. So I can’t get rides from him.”

“Scott, are you okay?” She asks.

Derek’s not sure what to say. Scott’s distraught, but he’s kind of ‘meh’ about it. Mostly because he knows there’s a zero percent chance that Stiles is staying away. Hell, he’s probably off at the other school playing detective or something. “I’ll be fine.” Derek says.

“Okay.” Mrs. McCall replies gently. “Let’s get this heap in the back.” She says, gesturing at the dirtbike. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m dumping it tomorrow and you’re banned from dirtbikes. Or anything with a motor. Ride your regular bike to school. And wear a helmet.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“Do that again and I’ll make you wear kneepads too.” Mrs. McCall threatens.

When they finally get loaded up in the car, Derek sends a quick text to Isaac, warning him to get everyone out of the loft. It’s right on time too, he thinks, because he sees police streaming out of the station already and he’s pretty sure he knows where they’re going.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Cora’s pacing over the loft while Boyd crouches on the floor, studying the drawings Stiles made when he was wolfed out. He’d drawn obsessively all night, using Boyd’s sketchbook paper and creating these weird sketches like he’d been in a trance.

Over on the sofa, Isaac’s watching Cora and Boyd curiously.

“Shouldn’t we be bailing Derek out?” He asks.

“They haven’t set bail yet.” Boyd points out. “We can’t bail him out till tomorrow. And we don’t have the money to do it anyway.” He says, flipping over a piece of parchment. Stiles’ drawings are mostly nonsensical bits and pieces. They’re odd symbols here and there or a mess of dots. Some of them are square patterns that prod at Boyd’s brain with familiarity. The boxes seem to go together and he sets the pages aside, laying them down together so he can see if they make sense.

“We might if we pooled our money together.” Isaac suggests hopefully. “I got a couple thousand from my dad.” He says.

“I’ve got about a hundred bucks saved up.” Boyd says.

They both look to Cora.

“I’ve got about five bucks in Brazilian Real.” She says. “It’s not gonna get us far.”

“What about the Hale fortune?” Isaac asks.

“They thought I died in the fire.” Cora points out. “None of that came to me.”

“Peter would have access to it.” Boyd says.

Cora frowns. “Do we trust Peter?”

Boyd and Isaac shake their head.

“Do we have any other option?”

They both shake their heads again.

“Guess we’re calling Peter.” She says, looking at Isaac. Boyd and Cora don’t have cell phones so it’s kind of on him.

Isaac pulls his phone out and frowns. “Got a text from Scott.” He says. He opens the message.

_Get out of loft. Police on way._

“Shit.” Isaac curses, checking the time. Ten minutes ago. “Fuck, guys, we gotta go.”

“What’s going on?” Boyd asks.

They hear footsteps down in the lobby.

“Police.” Isaac says. “Shit.”

They scramble, looking around in a panic. The elevator’s cut off. They can’t jump out the window. It’s too high and the police might see them.

“Fire escape.” Isaac says, leading them over to a small room hidden behind the stairs. He pushes a creaky, aged window open and stares down at the rickety ladder.

“That doesn’t look safe.” Boyd points out.

“It’s not.” Isaac says.

“But we’re still doing it.” Cora states more than asks.

“Yep.” Isaac replies.

“Well then hurry up.” Cora urges.

Isaac crawls out of the window, feeling the metal of the fire escape protest and shiver beneath him. It’s unsteady and it only gets worse when Boyd then Cora climb on. Wind blows around them from so far up and it’s a long way to the bottom of the complex. They hear the police moving inside the building and down in the street.

They all crawl down three stories and then the fire escape breaks off. Another one continues about ten feet away.

“Where gonna have to jump.” Isaac says.

“Fuck.” Boyd mutters. Cora seems surprisingly unfazed and Isaac wonders, not for the first time, just where she’s been for the last six years.

The wolf jumps the gap and just barely makes it. He feels the metal vibrate beneath him and hopes the clanging doesn’t draw the police’s attention. He moves down enough for Boyd to jump then holds on tight as the ladder feels like it’s going to fall off. They continue down and wait for Cora to move. She dangles from the bottom wrung of the escape above and swings herself forward and back, gaining momentum then leaping over to the ladder. She soars through the air then lands swiftly, grabbing the bars and balancing herself to minimize the impact.

Isaac and Boyd take a moment to admire her form before continuing onwards. Isaac muses silently that there’s definitely something a bit fishy about her.

They make their journey down, dropping into the alley. They pause at the bottom, debating which way to go.

“Police are that way.” Cora nods, over where the alley opens up to the streets.

“Back way?” Boyd asks.

“Yeah.” Isaac says. He knows the area better than them, since he’s been living here the past four months, so he leads the group, guiding them in the alley behind the mostly abandoned buildings. “Where are we gonna go?” He asks quietly. The main goal is to get out of this part of town, but they should have a set destination.

“We can go to my Grandma’s.” Boyd says. “I don’t think the police are looking for us. And they probably don’t know I’m back yet. They definitely don’t know about Cora.” He points out. “And if they’re looking for you,” He says to Isaac, “they won’t look there.”

Isaac nods. “Where’s she live?”

“Jefferson Street.” Boyd says.

One of the things that bonded Boyd, Isaac, and Erica, back when they first got bit, was that they didn’t judge each other and they never pitied each other. They all had their own reasons for doing what they did and they were all misfits, so they just sort of accepted each other’s circumstances. Boyd is glad to see that hasn’t changed, as Isaac doesn’t even react to the address and just guides them over in that direction.

Jefferson Street’s not even close to affluent. It’s rundown and crime-ridden. Clothing lines hang out between buildings and old furniture sits in the alleys. Boyd knows the heart of it though. Neighbors share with each other and there’s a sense of community and culture. On the surface it’s impoverished and underneath that it’s home. That doesn’t mean he’s not normally ashamed to admit it’s where he’s from.

Isaac doesn’t react to it as Boyd takes them to his Grandma’s. Cora doesn’t either. She actually seems pretty comfortable around it, which surprises the wolf.

Boyd digs under the mat for the key and unlocks the front door to his grandma’s town house.

“Gran?” He calls. He shuffles around clutter and old newspapers, leading the other wolves to the living room. The television’s on and his grandmother’s sitting in her armchair, her oxygen tank beside her as she watches the screen with glassy eyes. The smell of cancer hangs harsh and acrid in the air. She’d been relatively fine before he left, but she’s gotten worse in the past few months.

“Vern, baby.” She greets, looking over at him with a smile. “Those your friends?” She takes in the teens behind him.

“Yeah, that’s Isaac and Cora.” He introduces gently. “Could they stay the night?” He asks.

“Of course, child.” She says. “Better tell Carrie.”

Carrie’s her nurse. The insurance just barely covers his grandma having a personal nurse. She almost ended up in a home before he left. She could afford it without him as an expense. He’s not sure what’ll happen now.

“Thanks, Gran.” He says. He leads Isaac and Cora up the staircase to the bedrooms. There are only two, so Isaac bunks in his room and Cora gets the spare. His grandma sleeps downstairs, since she can’t make it up to the second floor, so they have relative privacy.

Isaac stands in Boyd’s room, looking at the furnishings. It’s pretty basic – clothes, bed, laptop. There are a few books and some music posters and a lot of dust.

“So, you live with your grandma?” Isaac starts, questions burning behind his eyes.

Boyd looks at him, frowning. The wolf lets out a sigh, pausing in making the bed. “My dad split when I was little. My mom got remarried and I didn’t get along with my stepdad, so I moved in with gran.”

“No siblings?” Isaac asks curiously.

Boyd looks down, shadows crossing his features. “Now it’s just stepbrothers and half-siblings. I…” He trails off, licking his lips and thinking. “I had a sister. Alicia. She’s long gone.”

“Dead?” Isaac asks.

“Maybe.” Boyd says. “She got taken.” He pulls the drawer of his nightstand open, bringing out a crumpled photograph and holding it out to Isaac. “Here.”

Isaac takes the picture curiously, studying it. His brows furrow and his eyes narrow. “This is your sister?” He asks.

“Yeah.” Boyd says.

“How long ago did she go missing?” He asks, voice strained and something guarded on his face.

“It’s been 9 years.” Boyd says. “Why?”

Isaac bites his lip, thinking. He glances up at Boyd hesitantly then back down at the picture. “I’ve seen her.” He says.

Boyd feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “What?”

“That girl that saved me from the alphas.” Isaac says. “This was her. Or at least it looks like her.”

“Are you sure?” Boyd asks.

“She’s older now. I thought she was our age, but she’s probably older.” Isaac says. “She smelled…she smelled familiar. I couldn’t place it, but…she smelled kind of like you.”

Boyd’s breath gusts out of him. “We have to find her.” He says.

“We can’t tonight.”

Boyd tries to protest, but he thinks of Cora in the next room and Derek and jail and wipes a hand over his face in frustration.

“We’ll look for her, Boyd.” Isaac says. “But not tonight.”

Boyd nods, swallowing thickly.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Derek’s in Scott’s bedroom, glaring at the window. Mrs. McCall’s not in the mood for playing around and she didn’t believe him when he said he wouldn’t sneak out, so he’s been effectively grounded through the use of mountain ash. In her defense, he’d been lying when he said he’d stay put, but the force feels unnecessary. He curses Scott in his mind for telling her about the ash. The wolf needs to learn to keep some things secret.

Derek looks over at the door, where a line of purple powder blocks him there too. He huffs, crossing his arms defensively and wondering how he’s going to get out of this. Melissa’s in her room and it’s been a couple hours, so he’s hoping she’s asleep. In other circumstances, he’d call Stiles to come break the line, but he can’t really do that now. Not because Stiles is supposedly out of the pack – as far as Derek’s concerned, the guy’s 100% in. But he’s a werewolf now, so he can’t do much about the ash. That really only leaves Derek with one option.

The wolf huffs, grabbing Scott’s cell phone and dialing the number.

“Hello?” Allison asks tiredly on the other end.

“Hey, it’s…Scott.” Derek says quietly.

“Yeah, I know.” Allison replies. “Is something wrong? It’s 2 in the morning.”

Derek sighs. “I kind of have a problem. I need to get to the preserve but Mrs – _mom_ has locked me in. Mountain ash.”

“And you need me to come over and bail you out.” Allison says.

“Yeah.”

“If it was bad enough for your mom to trap you, don’t you think you should stay put?” Allison asks.

“It’s kind of an emergency.” Derek says, tip toeing as close to the door as he can get and listening carefully. Mrs. McCall’s heartbeat is even and steady, so he thinks she might be asleep. He’ll have to be careful though. “Are you gonna help or not?” Derek whispers.

“Fine.” Allison says reluctantly, voice spiking with irritation at Derek’s clipped tone.

There’s a beat and Derek thinks she’s waiting for him to say something.

“You’re welcome.” She mutters, hanging up. Derek looks at the phone sheepishly. Right, manners.

Derek tucks the cell back into Scott’s jeans and starts looking around the room. He freezes when the closet door creaks and waits, wondering if it will summon Mrs. McCall. She doesn’t move and he roots through the wardrobe, not totally sure what he’s looking for yet. He finds dark pants and a black shirt. He uncovers dark sneakers and puts them in a pile with the clothes. There’s a skateboard in there and Lacrosse gear and some old knick knacks that won’t do him any good. Derek sighs. What he could really use is a shovel, but he doubts he’ll find that anywhere in Scott’s room. There would be one down in the garage, but he won’t be able to get in there without Mrs. McCall noticing, so he scraps that idea and figures he’ll wing it.

Derek changes into Scott’s darker clothes. He’s just lacing up the shoes when he hears Allison climbing the tree outside the bedroom. She maneuvers onto the roof and leans over to the window. He waits outside, watching her pick the lock with a small pocket knife then slide the pane open.

“Hey.” She greets quietly, running a gloved finger through the mountain ash. Derek relaxes, moving closer and pushing the window the rest of the way open.

“Hey.” He says back, crawling out carefully. “Thanks.” He says, because there’s no reason not to be polite. People expect it of Scott anyway and it’s a little liberating.

He hops down off the roof and waits at the trunk for Allison.

“You wanna fill me in?” She asks, jumping down and landing in front of him.

Derek clenches Scott’s jaw, thinking. “Derek’s in jail. Police are going to inspect his property.”

Allison blinks wide eyes at him. “And the preserve?” She asks.

“I have to take care of something there.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Allison says.

Derek walks around her and starts making his way away from the McCall house before Melissa gets wind of his escape.

“What do you have to take care of?” Allison asks. Derek looks at her impatiently. “Scott, tell me. I wanna help.” She says.

Derek furrows Scott’s brows, thinking. “I have to go dig up Erica.” He says after a moment.

Allison falters, falling back behind him as he keeps going. “You have to…What?!” She says, rushing after him.

“They’re searching his properties. If they find her body…” Derek trails off, running a hand through Scott’s hair in frustration. His fingers get stuck, because Scott’s hair is curly and twisted. He grumbles, pulling Scott’s fingers away and pouting at the sting in his scalp. He really needs to figure out how Scott controls the ridiculous coils.

“Okay.” Allison says, face composed in a determined expression. “We’ll need shovels.”

Derek looks at her in surprise. “What?”

“I’m not digging with my hands.” Allison says, turning and walking in the other direction. “I’m parked this way, come on.” She says.

Derek watches her hesitantly and a little incredulously. He manages to snap himself out of it and hurry after her. “There’s an old shed near the preserve.” He says. “There should be shovels there. And we’ll need a tarp.”

Allison nods. “I have rope in the trunk.” She says. “To tie the tarp up with.”

Derek chews his cheek, feeling a little sick in his stomach. Allison looks pale beside him, but he knows she won’t waver. Whatever Derek’s and Allison’s differences, they’re both determined and they’re both going to see this through.

They get to the car and Derek slips into the passenger’s seat, settling in quietly as she drives off.

“What are we gonna do with the body?” Allison asks.

Derek has no idea. The question’s been circling in his head since the police station, but he can’t come up with a good solution.

“Her parents need to know.” Allison points out. “She should be in the morgue. She shouldn’t be buried out in the woods where no one can find her.” She says, staring out the window with a haunted expression. “Derek shouldn’t have put her out there in the first place.”

Derek feels guilt twist in his gut. “I know.” He says, because she’s right.

“You know we can’t just drop her off at the morgue though, right?” Allison says.

Derek nods. “We could bury her somewhere else.” He says.

Allison looks doubtful. “Maybe.” She says. She glances at him anxiously. “The police dogs would be able to track the scent. We couldn’t bury her nearby.”

“They’re looking for drugs, not dead bodies.” Derek says.

“Do you want to chance it?” Allison asks.

Derek sighs. “I don’t know.”

There’s a pause and Allison chews her lip. “Scott, I…I think we’re gonna have to dump her.” She says fearfully.

Derek can hear Scott’s voice in his head, vehement and horrified as the wolf insists ‘no.’ That’s what Derek should be saying. What he says instead is, “There’s a lake about twenty minutes out of town.”

“Oh god.” Allison whispers, letting out a choked breath. She grips the steering wheel till her knuckles go white and she takes in a deep inhale, composing herself. Her jaw clenches and she sits up straighter, letting determination harden her. “This is a mess, Scott.” She states quietly.

“I know.” Derek mutters.

“If we do this, we’re not gonna be able to undo it.” She says.

“I know.” Derek repeats.

Allison nods, taking the road that leads to the preserve.

“Stay left at the split heading toward the country.” Derek instructs. “The shed’s out near one of the apple orchards.”

Allison follows his directions and soon they’re parking out near Apple Gate Farms. Allison pulls a flashlight out of the glove compartment and follows after Derek. He can smell the anxiety on her, but she’s steady as she comes up beside him. He lets Scott’s eyes flash, to light the way, and frowns when they turn red.

“Scott?” Allison asks curiously, spotting the color. They go gold quickly and Derek keeps going, not stopping to address her concern.

He sees the shed up in the distance. It’s old and dilapidated, sandwiched between trees and brambles. The structure leans to one side, it’s peeling, mossy walls too downtrodden to fully support the weight. The door’s still sturdy, Derek discovers, and he has to break it in when the lock won’t give. There are rusted gardening tools and moldy flowerpots inside. Derek finds a beaten, dusty tarp in the back and grabs it along with two shovels. He also takes some of the gardening gloves, just to be safe.

They carry their loot back to Allison’s vehicle and shove it in the back, both significantly paler and more shaken as their plan falls into place. Allison drives over to the preserve. Derek guides her to the little known backroads up to the Hale house and she parks in a cluster of trees.

“Where’s she buried?” Allison asks as they unload their shovels.

“Where the garden used to be.” Derek says, grabbing the rolled up tarp. Allison nods, pulling out a coil of rope and reaching up to close the trunk of her car.

Derek hesitates when the car’s closed up. Shame twists in his gut and he looks at Allison. He can’t do it like this. He’s done bad things, but this is crossing a line, even for him.

“You need to know something.” He says.

Allison looks at him curiously. “If you’re trying to do the post-breakup talk, now’s not a great time.”

Derek shakes her head. “I’m not…” He stops, taking a deep breath. “I’m not Scott.” He says.

“What?” Allison asks.

“I’m Derek. Scott and I switched places.” He says.

Allison grins at him in confusion. “Scott, this is a really weird joke.”

“I’m not kidding.” Derek says. “I know it’s weird, but…”

“It’s not weird, it’s impossible. Scott-”

“I’m not Scott.” Derek insists. “I’m Derek.”

“Right. And Scott – the real Scott – is in jail trapped in Derek’s body.” She says incredulously.

“Yes.” Derek says, trying to think of some way to prove it.

Allison’s watching him warily now, body subtly shifting like she’s ready for a fight.

“You can ask Stiles. Or Cora.” Derek says. “Scott and I have been switched since Wednesday.”

“Stiles knows?” Allison asks.

“Yes.”

“And he believes you?”

“Yes.”

Allison narrows her eyes. “Let’s say hypothetically I believe you – why are you telling me?” She asks.

“You’re doing this because you think I’m Scott.” Derek says. “And I’m not.” He says, needing her to understand that. Derek doesn’t want to be the bad guy again. He’s not going to use her trust in Scott like this.

Allison studies him. “How?” She asks. “How could you switch?”

“We don’t know. We think it might be a spell.” Derek says.

“I’m trying to think of questions I could ask to make you prove it, but I can’t.” Allison says.

Derek casts his mind around, trying to think of something. “Did you ever tell Scott how you learned about us?” He asks.

Allison looks at him sharply.

“Do you know how long your aunt had me down there? How long she’d been electrocuting me?” He asks. “When she told you what I was, what your family did, she said it was to help you feel powerful. Does it?” He asks.

Allison’s mouth falls open and her breath hitches. “I don’t feel helpless.” She answers. “And no, I never told Scott about that.”

Derek nods. “You should go.” He says, clutching his shovel and moving around her.

“What about Erica?” She asks.

“I’ll take care of it.” He says, heading toward the old Hale garden.

“You’ll need a way to transport her.” Allison says, following him.

Derek shoots her a confused look. She probably can’t make out his features really well in the dark, but she seems to get it.

“I’m not leaving.” She says.

“Scott wouldn’t approve of this.” Derek points out.

“He needs help.” She replies. “If this helps, I’ll do it.”

Derek sighs, pushing through overgrowth to get to Erica’s grave.

“Any chance of us coming up with a plan Scott will approve of?” She asks, weaving through the hedges.

“Not unless we can sneak her into the morgue.” He says, getting to the spot where Erica’s buried and shoving his shovel into the soil.

“You think they’ll be able to trace her back to us?” Allison asks, slamming her own shovel into the dirt.

“The sheriff knows more than he lets on.” Derek says. “Scott and Stiles have been showing up at too many crime scenes for him to not notice and he’s been keeping tabs on me and Peter.”

Allison looks up, surprised.

“Now the FBI’s in town.” Derek continues, tossing dirt to the side as he continues to dig. “They’re investigating me. It’s only a matter of time before Scott and Stiles get dragged in.”

“We can’t risk it.” Allison says in realization.

“We need to cover our tracks.”

Allison pushes down into the dirt a little harder on her next dig. “This lake.” She says. “How deep is it?”

“Very.” Derek says.

The conversation ends there and they concentrate on digging. They’re both covered in dirt and sweat by the time they get down to Erica’s body. They smell it before they see it. It’s rich and pungent, wretched with decay. It had been bad before, back in the bank, but a couple days underground had let the bugs get to it and now it’s exponentially worse. They pull the soil back, exposing the corpse, and Derek sees maggots and pus.

Allison looks nauseous as she helps him lift Erica and bring her up to the surface. The hunter stands back while Derek wraps the fallen beta up in the tarp. Allison’s starting to panic, he notices. He’s far from calm himself, but he’s holding it together a bit better.

“Rope.” He says. Allison grabs the binding and comes over, using her knife to cut off strips so he can tie the tarp up, keeping Erica sealed in. When she’s wrapped up, they hastily redig the hole, patting the soil down.

“They’re gonna notice.” Allison mutters, staring at the fresh dirt.

“Probably.” Derek says, moving over to grab Erica. The tarp crinkles as he lifts. Allison takes both of their shovels and the remainder of the rope and leads the way back to the car. She opens the back and Derek sets Erica inside, looking at the roll of tarp regretfully. “We’re gonna have to get rid of the shovels too.” He notes as Allison places them in the back.

“Do you have a lot of experience with this?” Allison asks. “Actually, I don’t want to know.” She decides.

Derek thinks that’s for the best. He doesn’t have a lot of experience with this, but he thinks that would probably make her more nervous, because he’s really just winging it.

They load up in the car and Allison drives. Erica’s pretty tightly sealed but her smell still kicks up, prickling at his nose. “You should get a car freshener.” He says.

“I might just get a new car.” Allison says. “I don’t think I could stomach driving this one again.”

Derek nods. “Take a right at the end of the road.” He directs.

Silence falls around them, broken only by Derek’s instruction and then the sound of other cars as they get out onto the highway. The light starts to come up as minutes tick past and by the time they get to the lake, it’s dawn. They drive up to the ledge and Allison stops, staring at the water over the cliff. She takes a steadying breath, cringing when the smell of death mixes into it.

“We’re really gonna do this, aren’t we?” She asks, wide-eyed and terrified.

Derek’s having second thoughts too. He’s been having them all the way up here actually.

“Couldn’t we just bury her out here?” Allison asks, gesturing to the woods around them. “It’s not like anyone’s gonna find her.”

That’s a good plan and it would work, but there’s one problem. “The sun’s almost up.” Derek points out. “By the time we get a deep enough hole…”

“We’ll risk people finding us.” She says.

“We need to get back to Beacon Hills before the police notice we’re gone.” Derek says.

“Fuck.” Allison mutters.

“I’m sorry.” Derek says sincerely. It’s not something he does often, but he thinks the situation warrants an apology.

“Me too.” Allison says.

“You can wait here.” Derek offers, unbuckling and opening the door. He moves to the back and hears Allison’s car door open.

“We’re in this together.” Allison says.

Derek looks at her in surprise. He’s never been allied with Allison before.

“We are.” Allison repeats. “We need to be, for Scott.” She says. “I mean it, if we’re gonna finish this, you need to have my back and I need to have yours. No more fighting and no more secrets.”

Derek nods. “Okay.” He agrees.

Allison studies him for a moment. “Pinky promise.” She says, sticking out her hand.

Derek blinks. “What?” He asks.

“Pinky promise.” She insists. “Think of it like a contract.”

Derek’s not really sure what a pinky promise is but he follows her lead, holding Scott’s pinky finger out. Allison curves hers around his and shakes. Derek watches in confusion as her hand retreats.

“Right.” Derek mutters. “We good?”

“Yeah.” Allison says.

Derek opens the trunk. Allison moves forward, grabbing one end while Derek grabs the other. He could handle the weight on his own, but Allison’s determined to do this together and Derek doesn’t fight her on it. They lug Erica’s body over to the edge, hesitating just a moment before throwing her over the cliff. The tarp-covered corpse tumbles downward, racing down toward the water. The splash is audible and Derek watches the water rise up in the early morning light. Allison stands next to him, staring down as Erica disappears.

“This was the right thing to do, right?” Allison asks quietly. She’s shaking beside him. He’s pretty sure she’ll breakdown later, but for now she’s managing to hold it in.

“Yes.” Derek lies, because he’s not really sure anymore.

“We should tell them.” Allison says. “Scott and the pack.”

Derek clenches Scott’s teeth together and wonders if that’s a good idea. “We will.” He says. “When the legal stuff’s cleared up.”

Allison nods.

“We should head back.” Derek says, looking at the horizon. The sun will be up soon. “Do you want me to drive?”

Allison shakes her head. “I can manage.”

Derek nods. He grabs the shovels from the back of the car and dumps them too. He crawls back into the passenger seat and watches the sky grow lighter out the window as they make their way back to Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: Since people are asking, Scott and Stiles reunite in the next chapter. :D


	11. Friends Furever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: I said a few chapters ago that the eclipse wasn't for a month but I changed it to a week. Because seriously, it's only Friday in this story. It's been three days. I can't handle a month. 
> 
> Also, this chapter was supposed to be longer, but I got overexcited and impatient, so it's up today. 
> 
> Cover Art done by the splendorous blackbirdrose
> 
> The swirl pattern was taken from [ image source](%E2%80%9C) (which also details it's meaning.)

** Chapter 10; Friends Furever: **

_“That your kid?” Agent Carter asks when Scott follows after the sheriff._

_Rafael frowns, shooting a glare over at his partner before marching out into the lobby. “Call Melissa McCall.” He says to Deputy Graeme._

_“Excuse me?” She asks._

_“Tell her her son’s here.” He says, staring at the deputy seriously._

_She sighs, picking up the phone and scowling at him. He turns, going back to the room they have reserved. Carter comes in after him._

_“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” He asks._

_Rafael clenches his jaw, studying the board. “Yeah, he’s mine.” He says._

_Carter whistles. “Any idea why he’s talking to our suspect?”_

_“No.”_

_Carter sits down at the desk. “You saw his tattoo?” He asks._

_Rafael frowns. “It’s not a gang sign.” He points out._

_“Maybe. Maybe not.” Carter shrugs. “Hale’s got one. That swirl thing on his back. Never seen anything like that before, but it could be a connection.”_

_“Maybe.” Rafael says doubtfully._

_“You know, if Scott’s involved in this-” Carter starts._

_“It’ll be fine.” Rafael says._

_“You can’t work a case investigating your son.” Carter says. “Sheriff Stilinski’s proven that.” He gestures out the window, where they see the sheriff talking to one of the officers._

_“You got anything on Stiles yet?” Rafael asks. He watches the sheriff warily as the man looks over in their direction._

_“Not much. Most of the kid’s statements are taken at the scene, he’s never brought in. I mean, get this,” Carter says, grabbing one of the more recent files. “A girl named Heather goes missing, Stiles is the last one to see her, right? Everyone sees him go down to the basement with her and then she disappears. All the sheriff does is take a statement. No interrogation and he doesn’t even ask for this kid’s alibi during the time of death.” Carter looks up at Rafael._

_“Could Stiles have taken her out of the basement?” Rafael asks._

_“With help. According to him he was up getting condoms when she went missing, but that could have been an excuse. What if he goes up to the bathroom hoping people will see him and give him an alibi and his partner sneaks Heather out of the basement? Stiles leaves and they team up later and gank her?”_

_“Anyone with him at the party?” Rafael asks._

_“Scott.” Carter says. “Witnesses say they saw him out talking to some girls though. He couldn’t have done it.”_

_Rafael frowns. “Could have been Hale.” He says._

_Carter nods._

_“So Stiles and Hale team up and kill this girl. Why?”_

_Carter shrugs. “The way she was killed…it could’ve been some sort of message.”_

_Rafael looks at the board thoughtfully. “What about this guy – Brady? Stiles and this girl named Lydia Martin discovered the body. If Stiles killed him too, could be part of some sick game.”_

_“Like he’s a psychopath?” Carter asks._

_“Maybe. I mean, this isn’t just a drug thing. Whoever killed them enjoyed it, made it slow and painful.” Rafael says. “We got anything on Lydia yet?”_

_“There are some files on her, I haven’t had a chance to look them over.” Carter says, pulling up his laptop._

_Rafael sighs, sitting down at the table and grabbing the file on the newest victim. “You look over this Emily one yet?” He asks._

_“Yeah. Out camping with her girlfriend, starts tweaking out and talking about bugs.”_

_“It was probably drugs.” Rafael says._

_“Sounds like it.”_

_“Hale could have been her dealer.”_

_Carter nods. “We connect the Argents to any of this yet?”_

_“No.” Rafael says. “They’ve been covering their tracks.”_

_“They probably have more experience.”_

_“Yeah.” Rafael says. “Cops were supposed to talk to the girlfriend today. Think they got her statement ready?”_

_“Better question is – are they going to give it to us?” Carter says. “They haven’t been that cooperative. You think Stilinski’s covering stuff up?”_

_Rafael sighs. “Probably.” He mutters. “I’m gonna go talk to the deputy, see if she’s got anything for us.”_

_“Good luck.” Carter says._

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

It’s about five in the morning when Allison and Derek get back into Beacon Hills. They pass by the preserve and Derek sees police cars already parked along the side. He hears the faint sound of dogs in the distance and knows they’re out with the canine units.

Allison stiffens beside him when she sees the police cars. She clutches tightly at the wheel, turning her eyes to stare fixedly at the road ahead of them. “If they ask where we were…” She starts.

“Is your dad home?”

“Yeah.”

“Will he know you’ve been gone?” He asks.

“Probably.”

“Will he lie for you?”

Allison glances at him nervously. “He might, but I can’t ask him to.”

Derek nods.

“Mrs. McCall probably knows you’re gone.” She says.

Derek stares out the windshield, thinking. “I called you last night asking if we could meet up and talk. I wanted closure. We went somewhere private and spent the night talking about our relationship. We decided to be friends.” He says.

Allison nods. “Okay.” She says, agreeing to the cover story. A moment passes before she speaks up again. “Did we decide to be friends?” She asks. “I mean, you and me.”

Derek looks over at her curiously. They called a truce, but ‘friends’ seem a little excessive. “After everything?”

Allison sighs. “I’m not saying we’d hang out together, but…I don’t want to fight you anymore, Derek. I’m not saying I won’t,” She warns, “but I don’t want to. And Scott trusts you, so…” She trails off, not sure how to finish that.

Derek studies her. She’s an Argent and a hunter, but she’s dependable. At least, she is now. “Okay.” He says. “Friends.”

“Good.” Allison replies.

“I’m not gonna let you give me a makeover though.” He says quietly.

Allison looks at him in surprise. “Did you just make a joke?” She asks.

Derek shrugs Scott’s shoulders.

Allison’s lips twitch. “What if I just paint your toenails?”

“Scott would look good with pink.” Derek notes.

“I have the perfect shade.”

Derek feels Scott’s lips tilt up at the corners and looks out the window beside him. The humor’s dampened by the somber atmosphere and the still present scent of death in the car’s interior.

“How are we gonna get Scott out of jail?” Allison asks.

“We need to get him a lawyer.” Derek says. “Peter knows some guys.”

“That could take a while.” Allison observes.

“There’s not much we can do. We don’t know all the charges.”

“We know someone who could find out.” Allison says.

Derek looks at her pointed expression and sighs.

“Stiles can get us those files.” Allison says.

“His dad’s probably still at the station.” Derek replies.

Allison nods, taking a right to head in the direction of the Stilinski household.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Blue and periwinkle fan out over the early morning sky like hydrangea petals, pressing against the coal dust frame of the fading night. The sun’s not up quite yet, but it’s close, and Stiles catches just the faintest trace of yellow trickling into the dawn. There are cotton wisps out on the horizon and he watches them sedately, feeling oddly calm. Birds chirp in the background and it’s peaceful.

Stiles blinks, eyes widening when he realizes where he is. He’s lying supine on a small hill in the preserve. His mouth feels dry and he tastes copper on his tongue. The smell of blood fills his nostrils and he props himself up on all fours and looks down. Mud cakes his clothing along with another brown substance – dried blood. Stiles gags, choking on the smell of gore all over him. He hears noises in the background – dogs and people. They’re close and Stiles’ heart hammers a fearful rhythm in his chest. He pushes up quickly, tripping through the dirt and taking off at a run. He skirts around a cluster of trees and freezes when he sees a cop holding one of the Narc dogs.

“Hey!” The guy shouts, spotting him.

Stiles flees, taking off through the woods.

“Hey, freeze!” The cop says and Stiles hears him speaking on his radio.

He wonders what the hell the cops are doing here, especially with the canine unit. Dogs bark and he hears more people coming up behind him. He runs fast – faster than should be possible. The air swirls around him like wind as he picks up speed. Something primal in him relishes it and he can feel his wolf stir in his mind. It’s that, more than the cop he rams into, that has him faltering. Stiles tumbles to the ground gracelessly, listening to the man he collided with groan as he hits the dirt behind him.

“Freeze!” A man says, coming up on them quick.

Stiles stays down. The sensation of his wolf stirring inside of him has him frozen and panicked. It’s one thing to realize he’s a werewolf now, but to feel it is horrifying. A hand grips his shirt, pulling him up, and Stiles goes with the motion.

“Call the station. Tell them we found something.” Officer Barnes orders.

“I wasn’t doing anything.” Stiles says.

“We gotta bring you in.”

A cop gets on the radio. “Yeah, we got a young male, 17, covered in blood. We just found him in the forest. Have a urine test ready.”

Urine test? Stiles frowns.

The dogs growl, looking at him threateningly, and the officer eyes them in confusion. “Man, what’s up with them?” He says, glancing over at Stiles. “You got drugs on you, kid?” He asks.

Stiles furrows his brows, glancing at Officer Barnes in confusion. “Drugs?”

“Search him.” Barnes orders. “Stiles, where’s the blood from?” He asks while another police man pats Stiles down.

“I don’t know.” Stiles confesses. He clenches his jaw and looks off into the trees.

“Are you under the influence of any substances?” Barnes asks.

“No!” Stiles protests. “Dude, you wanna watch where your hands are going?” He says, glaring at the man patting him down. The officer rolls his eyes, rooting around in Stiles’ pockets and continuing to get uncomfortably close to Stiles’ groin.

“Alright everyone,” Officer Barnes says. “I need you all to spread out, look for any bodies or blood. Hey, Steve, get me a patrol car. Jerry, read him his rights.”

Stiles is handcuffed and Steve shows up with the patrol car, weaving as close as he can get through the trees. Stiles is placed in the backseat and he flexes his fists, feeling the handcuffs strain at the motion. He could break them easily and a rumble forms in his chest. He settles, warily watching the officers in the front seat. Ordinarily, Stiles would be smarting off, but ordinarily he wouldn’t be covered in blood and he’d know why they were in the woods in the first place.

“You guys looking for drugs or something?” Stiles asks, leaning forward and looking at Officer Barnes in the driver’s seat.

Barnes doesn’t answer.

“That’s why you got the Narc dogs out right?”

Barnes still doesn’t respond.

Stiles sighs, jiggling his leg nervously and looking around. He licks his lips and tastes blood. “Is someone gonna call my dad?” He asks, hating the vulnerability that sneaks in his voice.

Barnes looks back finally, something like sympathy in his features. He sighs and glances at the other officer. “Jerry, call the sheriff.”

Stiles waits with bated breath. His dad doesn’t pick up.

“We’ll try again at the station.” Barnes promises.

Stiles sinks into the seat, cringing when the handcuffs bite into his wrists. He wonders what has his dad so occupied he’s not answering the phone.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Derek and Allison climb up to the second floor and crouch outside Stiles’ window. It’s already open and Derek frown, looking at the dirt on the windowsill. Allison stands beside him, brows furrowed and lips pursed.

Derek can hear the absence of a heartbeat in the room and knows Stiles isn’t there, but he crawls through the opening anyway, straightening up and staring at the mess inside.

“Holy…” Allison mumbles, standing beside him.

Stiles’ room is a disaster. The bed frame’s been toppled over and pushed to the side to make room for Stiles’ latest art project. Unlike the drawings he’d made Thursday night, this is one symbol, scratched into the floor over and over again. Derek steps forward, kicking up a pile of shredded material as he studies the design closest to him. It’s a swirl, cycling around itself five times before ending up at the top.

The pattern isn’t limited to the floor. Derek follows the swirls up to the wall, where Stiles has scratched it into the paint. He’s torn through his photos and his posters. Derek eyes the now ruined Batman sign and thinks Stiles will probably be pissed about that.

“What do you think it means?” Allison asks.

“I don’t know.” Derek says.

They move through the room slowly, taking in the state of the place.

“Hey.” Allison says, drawing Derek’s attention over to the other side of the room. She’s standing by the printer, poring over parchment. “He was looking up stuff on bloodroot.”

“Bloodroot?” Derek mutters, walking over to her. He peers over her shoulder, taking in Stiles’ research. “Can you see what else he looked up?” Derek asks, nodding over at Stiles’ laptop.

“If he didn’t clear his history.” Allison says, sitting down at the desk and pressing the power. The computer comes to life, showing his account locked. “It was asleep. He didn’t turn it off.” She says.

“Meaning?” Derek asks. He leans over the chair and looks at the laptop.

“Meaning he probably didn’t clear his history.” She says. She clicks his user icon and frowns. “We need his password.”

“Batman.” Derek guesses.

Allison types it in. “No.”

“Cape.”

“No. Too easy.”

“…Black.”

“No.” Allison says, looking at Derek in disbelief.

“Clown.”

She blinks. “Clown?” She echoes. “You mean the Joker? Or the Riddler?”

Derek frowns, confused.

Allison studies him curiously. “Derek,” She says, “Have you ever actually seen Batman?”

Derek shakes his head.

“Wow, seriously?”

“It’s a kid’s cartoon.” Derek points out.

“Well, it’s not just for kids. There’s a movie. A lot of movies actually. And a TV show. And comic books.” Allison says and then pauses when she realizes she’s starting to sound like Stiles. “Whatever, let’s just focus.”

Derek frowns, staring at the screen. “Isn’t there usually a number?” He asks.

Allison nods. “Could be his birth year.” She says.

“Batman nineteen…ninety…” Derek trails off, looking at Allison expectantly.

“Four.” Allison finishes, typing it in. She tries again, without the nineteen, and it still doesn’t work. “That’s not it.”

“His dad’s birthday?”

Allison contemplates that. “No.” She says. “Stiles wouldn’t pick a birth year. He seems like he’d want something more personal.”

“When his mom died?” Derek guesses.

“Maybe.” Allison says. “Do you know when that is?”

Derek shakes his head. There’s a pause and then he has a thought. “Try Batman24.”

Allison looks at him curiously.

“It’s his lacrosse jersey.” Derek explains.

Allison types it in. It doesn’t work. “We only get one more try before it locks us out.” She says.

Derek frowns. “Batman11.” He says.

“11. That’s Scott’s number.”

“I know.”

Allison hesitates before typing it in. There’s a pause as the computer processes it and then they’re in. “It worked.” She mutters, surprised.

The internet browsers are still open on a bunch of tabs. Derek sees stuff about bloodroot and ancient herbs and druids. Allison clicks on each one, taking them through forums on the herb and encyclopedias on its uses and side effects.

“He must’ve found something.” Allison says.

Derek nods. He stiffens when he hears movement in the living room. “Someone’s here.” He says.

“Stiles?” Allison asks.

Derek shakes his head. Whoever it is was here before them and Stiles would have sensed their presence. “The sheriff.” He says. The guy must have been sleeping on the couch.

“Shit.” Allison says, closing the laptop and standing up. “We need to get out of here.”

Derek looks at the state of the room. “Go out the window.” He says. There won’t be enough time for both of them to flee and Derek doesn’t think it’s the right thing to do anyway.

Allison takes a step toward the escape route and frowns. “What are you gonna do?” She asks, reading his determined expression.

“No idea.” Derek confesses, staring at the bedroom. When the sheriff sees it, he’ll think Stiles has flipped.

“Good luck.” Allison says, hopping out the window just as the sheriff reaches the bedroom.

Derek turns, clenching Scott’s jaw and stiffening his back as the door opens. The sheriff blinks at him, his face turning from shock to anger to fear as he takes in the state of Stiles’ room. Derek looks at the mussed blond hair and the uniform and figures the man really did fall asleep downstairs.

“What the hell is going on here?” The sheriff growls. “Stiles!” He calls.

“He’s gone.” Derek says.

“Gone? Gone where?” Sheriff Stilinski asks, stomping into the room.

“I don’t know.” Derek answers.

“He’s missing?” The sheriff asks.

“No. And yes. But mostly no.” Derek says, babbling because he’s apparently not good at this.

The sheriff’s eyes blaze and a dangerous mixture of fear and rage come off him. “Scott.” He starts and stops, like he’s too overwhelmed to even form words. His eyes are wet and he’s looking at the wolf desperately.

It’s too much. Derek can see it in every line of the man’s face and every purse of his lips and every gray hair standing out between the flaxen locks.

“If someone doesn’t start telling me what the hell is happening…” The sheriff cuts off the threat, rubbing a hand over his mouth and looking at the room in distress. He’s angry and he’s scared and he’s been pushed way too far. He feels like he’s going to have a goddamn panic attack. “What is this?” He asks, gesturing at the patterns in the room. “Did Stiles do this?”

Derek watches the sheriff warily. “Yes.” He says.

The sheriff takes a step toward the swirl on the wall and then he moves back, retreating like he’s too scared. He looks over at Derek then away. He’s moving erratically, like a caged animal. Or a worried parent who’s scared shitless. “What’s happening to him?” He asks, more to himself than Derek. Rage and terror bubble up and he knocks the spare lamp off the desk, breaking it. He stares at the shards, thinking of the broken lamp he’d found the day before. He brings his hands to his forehead and runs them up through his hair, clutching at his scalp and looking over at Derek. “What did you get him into?” He asks, stepping toward Derek. The wolf stiffens as Sheriff Stilinski brings his hands down, clutching at Scott’s shoulders. The sheriff’s instinct is to respond with anger, to scare the answer out of Scott, but that hasn’t worked in the past. “Scott, please. He’s all I have left.” The sheriff begs.

Derek grinds Scott’s teeth and looks over at the swirls on the wall behind Sheriff Stilinski’s shoulder. “It started in January.” He says.

The sheriff breathes a sigh of relief and steps back. “What started?”

“I’m telling you.” Derek replies stiffly.

The sheriff’s eyes narrow but he doesn’t argue.

“Stiles and I were in the woods…” Derek launches into the story. He’s interrupted when the sheriff’s phone rings. The man ignores it and Derek continues. He’s on his and Scott’s meeting when he’s interrupted again.

“Werewolves?” The sheriff asks incredulously.

Derek flashes Scott’s eyes, letting them go gold. He holds up his hands and pushes the claws out. The sheriff gapes. “Yes. Werewolves.” Derek says.

Sheriff Stilinski staggers back, watching him in horror.

“There’s more.” Derek promises. He ignores the man’s dazed look and skips ahead to Jackson and the kanima incident.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Stiles is processed. They take his clothes and give him some sweats and a white t-shirt. They make him pee in a cup and then he’s put in one of the interrogation rooms. He’s chewing nervously at his thumbnail when the door opens and two FBI agents stroll in. Stiles is shocked for a moment when he sees Scott’s dad and then he rolls his eyes.

“I must be pretty high priority if they sent in two of you.” Stiles notes.

“You’re right, he is annoying.” Rafael’s partner says.

Stiles looks at him distastefully. “You’ve only been in the room for, like, two seconds.” He points out.

“And you’re already getting on my nerves.” The guy says.

Rafael smirks. “Must be some sort of record for you, Stiles. Carter’s usually a rock.”

Stiles glares, feeling an itch bubble under his skin in response to Rafael’s smugness. He wants to wipe that horrible look off the man’s face and he can feel claws prickling under the pads of his fingers. He takes a steadying breath and tries to stay grounded. “So which one of you is the bad cop?” He asks, leaning back in his chair and watching Rafael defiantly.

“Depends who you piss off first.” Rafael replies.

Stiles snorts. “This isn’t very professional.” He observes.

Rafael sits down across from him and puts a recorder on the table. “That was just the foreplay.” He says. “The actual interrogation starts now.” He says, pressing record as Carter sits down next to him.

Stiles watches Agent McCall warily as the man opens a manila folder. “You get around quite a bit, Stiles.” Rafael observes, placing a picture in front of him.

Stiles looks at the photo of Laura Hale. “I already gave my statement on that.” He points out.

“I know, I read it. It was interesting.”

Carter scoffs. “It was bullshit.”

“Forgive him, he’s never been a fan of fiction.” Rafael says.

Stiles frowns, confused. “Fiction? What are you talking about?”

“You just happened to dig up a body at the Hale house?” Rafael says, laying down another photo in front of Stiles. “Just like you just happened to be there when this guy got crushed to death.” He says, gesturing to the crime scene photo of the mechanic Jackson killed.

“I was paralyzed.” Stiles point out.

“By what?” Carter asks.

“That is a good question.” Rafael says. “And it would be a hell of a lot easier to answer if you’d actually had a tox screen done, but for some reason that was deemed unnecessary.”

“They tested the stuff at the scene.” Stiles points out.

“Oh yeah, some sort of venom, was it?” Agent McCall says. “Too bad we can’t prove you were on it. Mechanic was though.”

Stiles looks between the agents and feels dread swirl in his gut. “So you think I dosed him up and crushed him with my car?”

“Wouldn’t have been too hard to pull the lever.” Carter points out. “Even a lizard-brain could do it.”

Stiles looks at the agent sharply. “What?” He asks.

“This kid slow?” Carter asks, looking at Rafael.

“Erica and Boyd.” Rafael says, placing the teen’s pictures in front of Stiles. “You just happened to go missing the same night they did. Where were you?”

“Some kids from the other Lacrosse team didn’t like losing. Took me and beat me up.”

Rafael tsks. “Yeah, see, that’s where it really doesn’t make sense, because all those kids were accounted for. So unless you can give us names or jersey numbers…”

Stiles shrugs. “I didn’t see them. It was dark.”

“You sure?” Rafael says, producing another picture. It’s Brady. “He was there that night, wasn’t he? Number 44. Eastridge High School.”

Stiles looks at the photo then up at Agent McCall. “I never met him.” He says.

“You met her.” Rafael says, setting down a picture of Heather.

Stiles glances at it for a second before looking away. His jaw clenches and he jiggles his leg up and down uncomfortably.

“You were there when they found Emily’s body too.” Carter points out.

“You’re in an awful lot of places, Stiles.” Rafael notes.

“What are you trying to say?” Stiles snaps.

“Not trying to say anything. Just stating facts.” Carter says.

“They’re coincidences.” Stiles says.

Rafael leans forward, grinning predatorily. “What’s that your dad says? Once is an accident. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is a pattern.”

“I thought Ian Fleming said that.” Carter says.

“What?” Rafael asks.

“Yeah, it was in James Bond. Goldfinger. Only it was ‘Three times is an enemy action.’”

Rafael looks at Stiles. “Your dad fancy he’s a bit like James Bond?” He asks. “Maybe you do too, going around, taking out enemies, spying.”

“It’s sweet how you take his interruption and try to make it part of your interrogation.” Stiles says. “You guys make a cute couple.”

“That supposed to be insulting?” Carter asks.

“Didn’t know you were homophobic.” Rafael says. “That might explain this.” He opens a file to the incident with Jackson at Jungle. “Same paralysis as the mechanic. And oh, guess who was there?” He says, pointing to Stiles’ name in the list of witnesses. “You hate gay people, Stiles?”

“No!” Stiles protests. “I was there with a friend.”

“Oh yeah, Scott McCall.” Carter says. “You guys are close, right?”

Stiles glances at Rafael McCall, taking in the tension in the man’s posture. “Yeah.” He answers.

“He know Gerard kidnapped you the night of the lacrosse game?” Carter asks. Both Rafael and Stiles look at him in confusion.

“What?” Rafael asks. Carter lifts his hand, bringing it to the back of Rafael’s neck. Stiles watches in shock as Rafael goes stiff and still, eyes glazing over as Carter presses claws into his nape.

“You-” Stiles starts and Carter smirks, eyes flashing red. “What the hell?” Stiles says, looking at Rafael.

“Don’t worry about him.” Carter says. “I’ve had him under my control for weeks.” He says, lifting his other hand to pet the man’s hair fondly. “You should see what I can make him do.”

“Weeks?” Stiles says. “How long have you been in town?”

“A while.” Carter says.

Stiles looks at Rafael, frowning.

“Dad requested the FBI a few days ago.” Stiles says, staring at the hypnotized agent. Rafael looks like a statue and it’s sending shivers down Stiles’ spine.

“I think you’ll find that he didn’t.”

Stiles’ breath catches. “This isn’t an official investigation, is it?” He says, realization kicking in.

“I wouldn’t get too relieved.” Carter says. “You’re still in some serious shit. And by the time we’re done, there will be enough evidence to put you away for a while.”

Stiles tries to bury the fear going through him.

“We’re not opposed to dealing, of course.” Carter says.

“What do you want?” Stiles asks.

“Right now, I just want you to answer my questions.” Carter says.

“What do I get in return?”

“If you answer my questions, I’ll stop doing this.” Carter slams Rafael’s head forward on the table.

“Holy shit!” Stiles yells, flinching back in shock and cringing. Carter does it again and Rafael’s nose cracks. “Okay!” Stiles shouts. “Stop, okay!”

Carter pulls Rafael back and Stiles watches the blood drip from Agent McCall’s nostrils. His nose is bent and Stiles can smell the bruise forming already.

“Oh my god.” Stiles squeaks before he can help himself.

Carter’s smirking, looking at his handiwork gleefully before turning to Stiles. “You were digging in the woods.” Carter says seriously. “What were you looking for?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles says. He didn’t even know he was digging. He figured the dirt was from running around.

Carter tilts Rafael forward warningly.

“I’m serious, I don’t know!” Stiles insists.

“Did you find anything?” Carter asks.

Stiles shrugs. “No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He says.

“What do you know?” Carter asks.

“Right now? Not a whole hell of a lot.” Stiles says.

Carter moves Rafael again and Stiles holds his hands up.

“Dude, I swear. I know there’s an alpha pack and weird murders going on and I woke up covered in blood. And I now know that you are an alpha and apparently Scott’s dad is your human puppet.”

Carter studies him suspiciously and then sighs. “Well that’s disappointing.” Carter mutters.

“I don’t know what you expected.” Stiles mutters, watching Carter cautiously.

Carter glares.

Stiles sits there awkwardly. “Are we done?” He asks.

“For now.” Carter says.

“What are you gonna do about him?” Stiles asks, nodding at Rafael.

“Blame it on you.” Carter answers.

Stiles’ jaw clenches. He can’t say he’s surprised. He gestures at the tape recorder. “And that?”

“No batteries.” Carter says.

“Of course.” Stiles mutters.

“I’d say don’t breathe a word of this, but it doesn’t really matter.” Carter says, turning to his partner. “Rafa, time to wake up.” He extracts his nails.

There’s silence as Rafael comes back to himself and then the agent clutches at his face and glares at Stiles.

“Oh my god.” Carter says, looking between them with wide eyes.

“You’re getting locked up for that.” Rafael promises.

“Come on, man. Let’s get you some ice.” Carter says, pushing out of his chair and urging Agent McCall out of his.

“Fuck, I think he broke it.” Rafael says as he walks out the door. “Someone get Stilinski in a cell!” Rafael orders.

A police officer comes in, taking Stiles out of the interrogation room. The wolf is dragged through the hallway. He keeps his protests to himself, knowing it’s pointless.

The door to the cells opens and a familiar scent hits him. Stiles looks up with wide eyes, meeting a familiar green gaze.

“Scott?” He whispers, shocked.

“Stiles?” Scott says, staring back at his friend.

Stiles is dragged to the cell next to Scott’s. He resists at first, wanting to join Scott in his cell, but the officer’s not having any of it.

“Get in, Stiles.” The officer orders, pushing him into the cell and locking the door behind him.

“Stiles.” Scott says, moving over to the wall dividing them. Stiles looks at his friend through the bars. Derek’s hair is messy and his clothes are wrinkled, like he slept in them.

“Dude, what’s going on?”

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Scott’s felt itchy and caged since they brought him into the police station. He managed to get some sleep, but he mostly just laid in the bed, knowing that if he let himself move, he’d break through the cell. He’d probably break everything until he got loose, and he doesn’t want to do that, so he stays perfectly still, listening to Derek’s heart beat a panicked rhythm in his chest.

The moment he smells Stiles, he feels something in him relax. He’s still scared, but that feeling like he’s spiraling off the deep end mellows. He’s grounded. He’s anchored.

Scott leans back against the bars, launching into the story about Derek and the sheriff and how Scott got arrested. He looks at Stiles, taking in the honey brown eyes and the smell of his friend, now tinged with werewolf but still just as comforting as it’s always been. Stiles is his anchor, he realizes, and it hurts to have him so close and know that Stiles doesn’t want to be in his life anymore.

Scott tries to ignore that when he listens to Stiles go into his own story. He hears his friend’s voice break with fear on more than one occasion and it takes everything he has not to reach out to him. He can’t do much with the bars in the way, but he thinks he can at least brush his friend’s wrist. Stiles doesn’t want that though.

Stiles leans against the bars as he continues his story. Scott sees his friend’s foot tap nervously and the smell of anxiety is thick in the air. Stiles concludes his tale and Scott breathes out a heavy breath, his mind swirling with the information.

“So my dad’s partner is an alpha.” Scott says.

“Yep.” Stiles says. “And my dad has been teaming up with Derek behind our backs.”

“And you’re wolfing out and losing time.” Scott adds.

“Which wouldn’t be happening if you’d kept Derek’s teeth to yourself.”

Scott looks at Stiles guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m still mad at you.” Stiles says.

Scott looks away sadly. “I…” He stops, licking Derek’s lips nervously. “Are we really done? You and me?” He asks.

Stiles swallows thickly.

“Derek says we need you, to get out of this.” Scott explains. “I just…I don’t want to get confused about what we mean to each other.”

Stiles lets out a humorless laugh. “I’m never not confused about that.” He mutters.

Scott looks at him curiously. “What?” He asks.

Stiles’ smile drops and he sighs. “Scott, I…I was never leaving you.” He reveals. “Not permanently, anyway. I just needed to know I could get away, you know?” He says, looking at his friend for understanding.

“That didn’t work out so well.” Scott notes, looking at the bars around them.

Stiles lets out a real laugh this time. “No, it didn’t.” Stiles admits. “But you let me go.” He says, looking at Scott in confusion. “Why?” He asks.

Scott shrugs, feeling Derek’s broad shoulders roll against the bars. “You said you didn’t want to stay.”

Stiles sighs. “I never don’t want you in my life, Scott.” He says.

Scott feels himself soften and he twitches Derek’s lips into a gentle smile.

“Scott, I…” Stiles breathes out, nervous. His fingers tap against his thigh and he looks off at the bars across from him.

Scott watches his friend in confusion. “Hey.” He says, sticking Derek’s fingers through the bars. He can’t get them very far, but he doesn’t give up. Stiles looks down, confused, and Scott wiggles Derek’s digits. Stiles seems to get the message and moves his hand over, lacing his fingers with Derek’s. Scott feels the warm skin of his friend’s palm and squeezes gently.

“This is weird.” Stiles notes.

“You wanna stop?” Scott asks.

“No. It’s just…Derek’s hand, you know?” Stiles says.

Scott nods and settles with his back to the bars. He holds Stiles’ fingers and feels calm.

“Scott.” Stiles says quietly.

Scott glances over and sees Stiles’ eyes clenched shut. His friend’s psyching himself up and Scott waits patiently.

“I love you.” Stiles confesses.

It would be a relatively harmless admission if weren’t for the way Stiles’ heart rate ratchets up and his smell twists with nervous pheromones.

Scott feels Derek’s heart skip. He can’t breathe for a second as he processes just what his friend means by that. Stiles pries his eyes open and meets Scott’s gaze. Honey brown eyes search Derek’s face for Scott’s reaction.

“I love you too.” Scott says.

“You know I don’t mean just as friends, right?” Stiles asks.

“I know.” Scott says. “And I love you too.”

Stiles’ face twists with a mix of hope and fear. His breath gusts out of him, weighed down by emotion as he tries to let that sink in. “What does this mean?” He asks quietly. “For us?”

“I don’t know.” Scott admits. “But we’ll get through it. You’re my best friend. You’re my…” He searches for a good word. “Stiles.” He says when he can’t find one.

“I’m your Stiles?” Stiles repeats mockingly.

“Yeah.” Scott says. “You’re my Stiles.”

Stiles snorts. “Okay.” He says.

“And I’m your Scott.” Scott adds.

“Okay.” Stiles agrees, smiling softly at his friend.

Scott feels Derek’s mouth tug into a grin.

“You’re not gonna be all schmoopy like you were with Allison, are you?” Stiles asks.

“I wasn’t schmoopy.” Scott says.

“You were like the alpha of schmoop.”

Scott rolls his eyes. A sudden thought hits him and he looks at Stiles in shock. “Whoa, does this mean we’re we gonna have sex?”

Stiles’ mouth falls open and his eyes go wide. “Dude, we haven’t even gone on a date yet. How are you already thinking about sex?”

“We’re gonna go on dates?” Scott asks.

Stiles pauses, looking away in thought. “I don’t know.” He admits. “That sounds like it could be weird.”

“Yeah.” Scott agrees. “School dances might be fun though.”

“Homecoming’s coming up.” Stiles says.

“If we’re not still in jail you want to be my date to homecoming?”

“It might be weird if you’re still switched. People will think I’m dating Derek.”

“Actually…” Scott says, hesitantly. “People already think you and Derek are dating.”

“People think we’re – what?!” Stiles says, glaring. He pulls his fingers away from Scott.

“It was Peter’s idea.” Scott says.

“Peter? You listened to Peter?” Stiles exclaims.

“We didn’t really have a choice, dude. I was pretty upset after you left and everyone wanted to know why Scott was comforting Derek and then Isaac started talking about how weird stuff’s been and it was all kind of getting out of hand. So Peter said you and Derek-slash-me broke up and that’s why I-slash-Derek was crying.” That last part slips out on accident and Scott flushes.

“You were crying?” Stiles asks.

Scott gives a small shrug.

Stiles grabs Derek’s fingers again, reclaiming the wolf’s hand. “That plan was still shit.” He says. “My dad’s the sheriff. People can’t think I’m dating a twenty…how old is Derek?”

“22.”

“Huh. I thought he was older.” Stiles says. “That’s not actually too bad.”

“So you’ll still come to Homecoming with me if I’m stuck in Derek?” Scott asks.

Stiles thinks about it. “I think technically you’d be coming with me.” He says. “And yes, I will.”

“Awesome.” Scott says. There’s a small pause before Scott speaks up again. “Are you gonna transfer back to BHHS?

“Soon.” Stiles says. “But dude, something’s going on at Eastridge.”

“What do you mean?”

“All those teens that died came from there.”

Scott looks at his friend in realization. “Is that why you transferred?”

“Yeah.” Stiles admits.

“You’re really that determined to figure this out?” Scott asks.

“Dude, I’m telling you, there’s something there.” Stiles says. “Get this, I went to the community center yesterday to look into that guy who died. He had a garden there. He was growing bloodroot.”

Scott furrows Derek’s eyebrows, confused.

“It’s this poisonous flower. He told everyone it was chamomile. They made tea from it and this girl died.” Stiles says.

“So he was growing a deadly flower?” Scott asks.

“Yeah. There’s no druid connection that I could find and nothing Celtic, but I bet you he was up to something.”

“There was no poison in the bodies though.” Scott notes.

“I know.” Stiles says. “But there’s something here.”

Scott nods. “Was he growing anything else?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t get a good look. I was gonna go check it out today.” Stiles says.

“We really need to get out of here.” Scott sighs.

Stiles nods. “Preferably before nightfall.” He says, because he doesn’t want to go all crazy wolf in the police station.

“Stiles, I think we’re gonna have to break out.” Scott says quietly.

Stiles looks at his friend, surprised. “Are you serious? Because I am really okay doing that.”

Scott nods Derek’s head. “Yeah, I’m serious.”

Stiles stares at him in awe. “If you weren’t in Derek, you would be so attractive to me right now.”

Stiles has made jokes like this before but for the first time Scott realizes that he means it.

“You’re actually still a little attractive which is kind of freaking me out.” Stiles confesses. His eyes narrow as he stares at Scott and Scott starts to feel awkward. Seconds tick by and Stiles is still staring.

“Are you trying to figure out a plan or are you thinking about making out with Derek?” Scott asks. That seems to snap Stiles out of it.

“The first one. Totally the first one.” Stiles lies.

“Right.” Scott says, because he doesn’t actually care as long as they get to the planning. And as long as Stiles doesn’t actually make out with Derek. Which he guesses Stiles would technically be doing if he and Stiles kissed and Scott isn’t sure how he feels about that. “He’s not that great a kisser, just so you know.” Scott warns, because he’s been there and Derek’s pretty lousy.

“Dude, are you jealous?” Stiles asks.

“What? No.” Scott protests. “Shut up. Just help me think of a plan.”

“Oh my god, you’re totally jealous. That’s so sweet.”

“Stiles.” Scott growls warningly.

“Right, plan. On it.” Stiles says.

**X-X-X-X-X-X**

Agent McCall and Carter sit in their temporary office. The phone speaker’s on and they’re hearing back from the doctor about the results of the blood they found on Stiles.

“Looks like your victim was male, about 3’5, brunet, 130 – 290 pounds, dark eyes, a vegetarian…” The doctor lists.

“You got all that from a blood test?” Carter asks.

“No, I got that off the Wikipedia entry for deer. Your boy was covered in deer’s blood.”

Agent McCall rolls his eyes.

Carter snorts and hangs up. “Nice attitude.” He notes, nodding to the phone.

Rafael sighs. “We don’t have enough to hold him.”

“Stiles?” Carter asks. “Hey, assaulting an officer’s a pretty serious offense.” He points out, gesturing at the icepack Rafael’s holding to his nose.

“You know what’s weird?” Rafael says. “I don’t even remember him punching me.”

“I don’t blame you. Kid’s got a hell of a swing.” Carter says.

Rafael pulls the ice pack away and pokes at his swollen nose, hissing.

“Uh oh.” Carter says, looking out the window. “Here comes the cavalry.” He says.

Rafael looks out and sees Sheriff Stilinski stomping into the station, looking wild and pissed.

“Someone must’ve got hold of him.” Carter notes.

Rafael groans and gets out of his seat. “Better stop him before he flips.”

“Just remember, guard your face.” Carter says, holding his fists up to mimic boxing. “Kid had to learn to hit like that from someone and I’m betting it wasn’t the mom.”

Rafael snorts then quickly regrets it. He refrains from prodding at his nose as he exits the room to face down an irate sheriff.


End file.
